Shades of Grey
by Mikanis
Summary: L takes a gamble and makes Light an offer. Once the pieces fall into place, it's a race to see who can outmaneuver the other...and a long series of mistakes. Set just after Yotsuba arc, when Light has his memories. COMPLETE!
1. A Proposition

AN- Not three days after Concerto ends and I'm already writing another. I am a shameless addict. Hmm...Spoilers up until book seven, then I kidnap the DN Universe and have my wicked way with it. This is sitting at T for Teen right now, and I don't know if it will turn Yaoi or not. I really don't. Just another little psycho-story of mine, don't read if you don't like mind games or if you have L down as an archangel. Cuz he's not.

Step Lightly,

Mikanis.

XXXX

Prologue- The Proposition

_Now is as good a time as any._

L stood slowly, setting his tea down.

"Light-kun, would you please come with me?" Light looked at him as the debate at the table halted, and L almost smiled to feel the calculated stare fall on his shoulders. He heard Light's chair scrape the floor and headed towards the door.

He could hear Light's footsteps behind him, and one last time, he ran through his options. This could work. It was completely up to Kira however. That was really the only risk he could find in the situation…Kira not being open-minded. The door slid shut, and L turned to watch the camera in the corner. Fifteen seconds later, the tiny red light clicked off, and he smiled.

"Ryuuzaki…what are you doing?"

"Setting the stage, Light-kun. Please wait another fifteen seconds."

The blue light faded out as well, and the microphones were dead. Now they could talk. L turned and leaned on the wall, hands in his pockets.

"Don't interrupt me, because we have exactly one minute in which to complete this conversation. Nod." Light tensed, glancing at the door again, then at the cameras…he nodded slowly.

"I will not repeat myself, and you are a genius, therefore I will not elaborate. Nod."

_What the hell is he doing?_, Light nodded again, coming stand directly in front of the detective.

"I have a proposition for you, regarding your future. We are both aware of you current occupation. It is…lacking, in both legitimacy, and stability. Even if you achieve your dream, it simply can not last." Light's eyes widened. "It would be an insult to both of our intelligences to assume otherwise. You do not have to agree with me yet. Nod."

Light did, mind racing. L was that sure of himself?

"I'm offering you the opportunity to continue your work, under slightly different circumstances. You would work with me instead, legally, and under no restraint save my own. We could save the world without slaughtering half of it. Nod."

"…Good. This is a one time offer Kira. Consider it. If you decline, it will not be made again, no matter the circumstances. I trust in you to clean up your own mess and in such a fashion that I will not have undue stress. I'll have a hard enough time clearing this with my superiors anyway. Take care of it, and I can give you what you want. As for whether or not I'm telling the truth…Well, The only real difference between Justice and Revenge is the number of people involved. You have week to respond one way or the other. Be careful."

With that, L left him and returned to the investigation room. Light stared after him, and dimly realized that the camera came back online almost the exact second that the door shut after him.

Light had always believed that the ends justify the means. He also was unable to think of justice as being black and white. L himself, with some of his off-color techniques, just served to further that ideal. Light laced his hands behind his head and closed his eyes as he thought. He knew how insanely powerful the detective was…that part was not a lie. He likely could still create a utopian world…

He'd get to kill Misa…

The thought made him chuckle. No, better to sleep on it. He had a week to make his decision and put everything in place.


	2. Pawn

AN- Tee hee...Devious Light-kun.

Light knew that his plans for the new world were far from flawless. Once the world accepted him, there would be no going back. Kira was powerful as it was, but also nameless…faceless. Light was not a fool. While there was a certain glory in knowing that you single-handedly re-invented the modern world, there was also the annoying fact that power was a fickle thing. All it would take was the information of the DeathNote's existence to leak to the media somehow, and he'd be the most wanted man on the planet.

Still, as he stepped out of the showed and rubbed the towel through his hair, he couldn't help but sigh. It was a risk that he had not considered. If L was offering him anything, it was permanence…security. Light was ashamed to admit that he also was looking forward to receiving credit for his work…real credit. Praise would be directed at him, not just flung about the internet, gossiped about in schools and workplaces.

L was offering to make Kira real, in his own strange way. They'd discussed the matter at length two days ago, at Light's insistence. He was taking a gamble, but the plans were already in place for L's death. All he had to do was give the word and it'd start the ball rolling. Even if L arrested him, the detective would die before Light was sentenced. On top of that, the control option provided a beautiful little loophole for his pseudo-confession.

He'd be working with L, but not exactly for him. L would train him, see to his every need, and while Light wasn't looking forward to living with the man any longer than he had to, the offer was extremely tempting. L was on a first name basis with the most powerful people, both government and criminal in nature, in the entire world. He could say a word, and either start or prevent a war. He didn't because he chose not to, and that…that perhaps…was the one thing Light shivered over. He could have the President of the USA assassinated, blame it on Mexico, and have Canada hounding for territory rights once things settled down again. He could end or save a life with a phone call. To know that he'd be able to do that, to have that kind of power in check, and instead, work criminal cases…

It was amazing. It was everything Light had already. The only difference? It was completely legal. L was above the law, because L was the law.

The best part?

L worked in shades of grey. There really was no limit to what he would and would not do to further his own ends and fit his idea of justice. He was adaptable, his morals shifting slightly with every new country. While Light Yagami worked the same way, he found it extremely fortunate that they were so alike in thinking.

In reality, he supposed the deciding factor was the challenge underlying the offer. He hated to admit it, but his battle of pride with the detective had been the highlight of his career as Kira. Once he was gone…there likely wouldn't be another like him. By working alongside him, the battle may never end.

Light dressed quickly and headed to his room. He'd come home, once assured that L wouldn't disappear the second Light left the building. Time to put things into motion.

He walked downstairs barefoot, listening to the sitcom Sayu was watching with unadulterated disgust. He would never understand his little sister's fascination with them…he knew she was too smart to gain any real entertainment value from the poorly scripted dramas. She smiled at him as he walked by, and he reached down to ruffle her hair. He stopped by the kitchen, slipping an arm around his mother's shoulders as he she cut up meat for dinner.

"How's it going?"

"Oh Light! It's going to be wonderful! I fixed your favorites, and lots of them."

"You didn't have to…" His mother smiled up at him.

"Of course I did…It's your first night home in months. You're growing up so quickly, soon you won't need me to cook for you anymore." Light chuckled and his mother set her knife down, wiping her hand on her apron. She frowned slightly, pushing her hair back. "Things have been so different since you and your father started the case. Sayu and I have become very close while the two of you were gone, but we miss you terribly. She's been keeping her grades up by herself, trying to make you proud."

Light smiled to himself, making a show of rolling his eyes. "Fine…I'll have to buy her ice cream or something…"

His mother smiled a bit at that, but the worry lines didn't fade. "Light…would you think me strange if I said that something has changed?"

"Changed?"

"You've never been the most affectionate child…always so independent. It makes me proud really…but lately…Lately, it's like I don't know you anymore. I suppose it's because you're hardly ever here, but that's not all of it. You're changing…almost entirely. It's like you're growing up without me…I'm missing it somehow."

"Oh don't worry. It's just the distance…but the case will be over soon, and I'll be back in college in no time." He squeezed her shoulders gently, but she didn't look reassured.

"Light…I worry about you…and your father. He's so tired. He tries to be close, tries to spend time with us, but his mind is always so far away. Also…after last week, when he stayed late to assist with that capture…something's different."

"Different?"

"I feel…like someone's watching me all the time." She waved it off and took up her knife again. "I suppose I'm just being superstitious."

"As usual." Light stole a piece of the greens she was cutting and popped it into his mouth. She smiled at the affection, and Light glanced over his shoulder at the shinigami. Rem hovered in the corner, watching his mother cook with a quiet curiosity that seemed to be a common trait with the gods of death. She didn't like him, he knew, but she also hadn't spent as much time around him as Ryuk had.

She wouldn't know that he was up to something. It made his smile real for a split-second. He played his role to perfection, making a final off-hand remark about how the meal smelled wonderful, and giving his mother a peck on the cheek before he sauntered out. He slipped down the hall and paused.

Rem wasn't following. He grinned again, and took a deep breath. Putting on his most depressed expression, he checked his watch quickly. Almost seven thirty…Misa would still be in the shower. Models were creatures of habit…she'd begin her killing spree after that.

He nodded to himself and opened the door to his father's study without knocking. He peered around the door, and found his father at the computer, as expected. Soichiro was in the habit of coming home and checking on the police's progress. He wasn't allowed to work on the Kira case from home, and the police would no longer accept his help, but he still received a quiet satisfaction in knowing that they were doing well without him.

He was reviewing the cases that his limited access still allowed. Light glanced over his shoulder, but Rem was still in the kitchen. He cleared his throat, leaning around the doorframe again.

"Hey…" His father pulled his eyes from the screen reluctantly, but smiled when he saw him.

"Light, come in." He shut the window down quickly, instead bringing up a game of solitaire. "How does it feel to be home?"

"Strange…very Strange." Something in his tone caught Soichiro's attention and he looked him over again. Light partly shut the door behind him and offered a small smile as he sat in the chair beside the book shelf.

"Is something wrong?"

"Hmm? Oh no…not really. Just a bit tired from the case." The lie within a lie rolled easily from his mouth and his father frowned slightly. Time to put him down…he reached and pulled a book off the bookshelf, thumbing the cover open.

"You know, I never finished this one…mind if I read in here for a while?"

Soichiro knew something was up, and Light didn't want to talk about it yet. Instead of pressing, he just nodded and went back to his game. Light interrupted him as he flipped the pages to where he'd 'left off'…he'd actually never touched his book before.

"You don't have to hide the cases, Dad. A lot of those officers are still your friends…you have a right to check on them, you know." Soichiro smiled and nodded. Of course Light would understand. He brought the files back up and resumed his reading, sipping his lukewarm tea.

Half an hour into this documentary novel on a famous killer, Light wanted to rip the hair out of his head. Whoever had written the book had no idea how to present evidence, and every major turning point in the case had been poorly depicted. Finally his father's phone rang, and Soichiro picked it up, answering distractedly. An intense, and recognizable voice filtered from the tiny speakers. L…likely calling the entire team.

"Kira's killing again?!" He exchanged glances with his father and got up to close the door he'd left cracked. "How many? Light? Oh…Light's right here with me, we were reading. Yes, I'm watching him. Reports are still coming, then…Do you want us to come into-? I see. Yes, I see. No, you're right…there's not much we can do, is there? Very well then, Ryuuzaki, I thank you for the update. Yes, I'll see you tomorrow. Yes…you have a nice night too."

Light set the damnably boring book aside, frowning. "So there is another Kira."

Soichiro sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. He looked old and tired, and Light nodded to himself, looking dejected. He allowed a trace of anger into his features, standing to pace. "Damn him…it seems every time we take a step forward he knocks our feet out from under us. I was sure Higuchi would finalize things."

"Light, it's not your fault. Kira has to be the most brilliant criminal in the world." Light felt a note of pride at the unintended compliment, but continued pacing. Finally, he paused, his back to his father's desk. He crossed his arms in a self-defensive gesture, hanging his head.

"L will want me back at headquarters. And this…so soon after Misa was released. This won't go over well, will it?"

"No, I'm afraid not." Light nodded slowly, returning to his seat with a heart-breaking sigh. He'd bitten…time to reel him in.

"Dad…what if…what if it really is Misa?" Soichiro looked surprised.

"Light she was cleared just as you were…it's not possible."

"I don't know…I really don't." Light crossed his arms again, looking slightly vulnerable. "What if she is, though? What if she's just leading me along?"

"I wasn't aware you cared for her, Light."

"I'm scared to, to be honest. I feel like the only thing holding us together is Kira…" Inside he was laughing at the sheer irony of that statement. His brow furrowed, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"You want a relationship with Miss Amane?"

"I don't know. I don't…open up to people easily, you know that. What if I decide to take it seriously, and she turns out to be Kira? Worse…what if she uses me?"

"I highly doubt Misa could use a computer, much less a person like you, Light." Light chuckled a bit, but looked up, just the right amount of worry in his eyes.

"I just don't know. I wish I knew for sure…beyond a doubt. I really like her, you know…she can be annoying but…I do like her. I just don't want to take a relationship seriously, and end up getting hurt that badly. I mean c'mon…Dating Kira?" Light shivered, and his dad chuckled.

"I'm sure it's fine, Light. I know you're both innocent." Light just shrugged, and stood.

"I'm glad you support me, at least. I probably need to go pack…I know he'll want me to stay." Soichiro sighed and nodded. Light waved on his way out, shutting the door quietly and checking for Rem the second the lock clicked. She was no where to be seen, and he grinned his victory.

Just a matter of time now.


	3. Setting the Stage

"Coffee, dad?" Light held the coffee pot up and his father nodded, absorbed in his work. Light glanced at the screen as he poured, but he didn't see anything that cheered his mood. He was sure his father had taken the bait, but he hadn't acted on it yet. After last night's conversation though, he had to be thinking about it. Soichiro was a good father, and once something troubled his genius son, he was going to worry about it too.

L was working through a jar of peppermints this morning, and waved off coffee. Light had to agree, he couldn't imagine the two flavors mixing well. Still he poured his own cup and left the coffee pot by his keyboard possessively. Subconscious ploy for power? Perhaps…He grinned to himself. Maybe he just liked annoying the team. He glanced over at L, once again thinking through his plans. He'd considered the option that this was some elaborate hoax, but that just didn't seem L's style.

Who was he kidding, that was exactly L's style. He remembered his 'release' from confinement, and tried not to glare at the man. Still Over confidence led to mistakes just as quickly as doubt and hesitation. He'd thought it through, and if things worked out…

Well…

Light would be a very lucky man indeed.

"Light-kun." He frowned at his screen suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"Misa is here to see you." Light cringed a bit at those words, not acting this time, but nodded reluctantly.

"Why does she come this early? It's not even eight yet."

"She has a busy day today…two photo-shoots and a signing." The entire team slowly turned to give Matsuda a look.

"What? What?! I _liked_ being her manager!"

XXXX

Light returned a few minutes later, obviously irritated and smelling faintly of Misa's cotton candy perfume. L at least got a smile out of it, but the others were sympathetic as he headed back to his computer, taking a sip of his now lukewarm coffee.

"What are you grinning at L?"

"Misa smells good."

"That's a little bit frightening coming from you." L just nibbled on a finger and went back to his files. Light looked up, searching for Rem, and found her in the corner, staring at him. She'd no doubt seen Ryuk with Misa.

Light offered her a smile, and she looked away, glancing down at his father. One more piece falling into place. Misa would begin killing with a new vengeance tonight…hopefully double her usual night's work. He glanced at the team, all of whom were surrounding the table they'd set up by the door, with the Death Note in the center and their notes scattered everywhere. His father, L, and himself still sat at their computers…L was running a system check, comparing the hard copy notes with his own on the computer. They settled into work, as peaceful as a mass murder investigation could be. Every few minutes, L would read off a file that could be discarded and Matsuda put it through the shredder. Light considered his options

Aizawa…it'd have to be Aizawa. The man was by far the most intellectual and unbiased man on the team…he didn't care about anyone save his wife and children, and if the evidence told him something, he believed it. He was the most open-minded about Light being Kira. Ide was just as intelligent, but he wasn't outspoken enough to suit Light's purpose. Yes, Aizawa would have to be the one to follow up his father's research, once all was said and done.

He'd told Misa that L suspected him again, and that he was moving back into headquarters. She was absolutely furious, because once again, L was managing to deny her time with her boyfriend. Light played it up too, told her how L was hounding him about being Kira, and every other word out of his mouth was an insult…

In reality L hardly spoke to him, but Misa didn't need know that.

Light smiled behind his coffee cup.

XXXX

_Two Days Later_

Light assumed his mask and fell back in the group, leaving Matsuda to chatter on with Mogi. They were headed back from their lunch break, and Light had agreed to go along since Misa would be on the other side of town. Time to lock another piece in place. He fell in alongside his father, and nudged him with an elbow, smiling.

"What's on your mind?"

"Hmm?"

"You've been pretty out of it today…just wondering what you were thinking about." He glanced over his shoulder to be sure Rem was close enough. "You want to talk about it?"

"Just…what you said the other night, son. It got me thinking."

"What I…oh, about Misa?" Light let his voice fall, mentally smirking as Rem perked at the name. "What about it?"

"The killings have escalated for no apparent reason. Just made me wonder if we missed something perhaps…"

"Dad, don't worry about it…that's just me being paranoid, you know."

"Still…I think it'd ease both our minds if we looked into it again. You did say you wanted to know for sure, didn't you?"

"Well yes…but I didn't think you'd jump at the chance like this…"

"I'm frustrated. Any option is still an option at this point. We still don't know what happened to Higuchi."

"Yeah but…L said she was cleared."

"I haven't talked to L about it yet, but I'm sure he'd agree with me."

"You haven't told him yet?"

"No…I wanted to think it through on my own…and talk to you about it, of course."

"Talk to me?"

"Well, since it really bothers you, I wanted to make sure you were okay with us reopening the case on your girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend yet, and she never will be until I know for sure." Light frowned, looking away. "I'll do anything to solve this case, Dad."

Soichiro smiled proudly and clapped him on the shoulder. "I know son, I just didn't want you to be upset with me."

"I don't mind." Light glanced over his shoulder at the stunned Shinigami, flashing his kira-smile. "I don't mind at all."


	4. A Death In the Family

AN-Okay, let me start by saying that I have pretty much gotten this story line worked out. That's why I'm confident in my ability to write three stories at once, because this one is planned, and the other two are pretty much the same story from two opposing viewpoints. I'd also appreciate it if people wouldn't try to guess my plot...it kind of bugs me, and I'm not sure why. That being said, here is more devious Light for your enjoyment, and the next installment is coming soon. Thank you for reading! -Kani

If there was something that Light hated it was not knowing when something would happen. Pieces were in place, but he had no control over the situation. He knew what Rem's decision would be, but he didn't know when she would figure it out. Granted, Rem was a lot smarter than Ryuk had been…it shouldn't take…

He sat up as the Shinigami drifted through this floor. They regarded each other quietly for a moment, him leaning on his headboard, the death god hovering over his floor. She spoke quietly.

"Your mother is very perceptive."

"What do you mean?"

"Her soul is sensitive…she is uneasy in my presence, even though she does not know I am there."

"Her side of the family has always claimed to be… well-tuned for lack of a better word."

The Shinigami hissed out a breath, something that could have been a sigh. "You want me to kill your father."

Light didn't answer, staring at her. She nodded slowly to herself, looking around the room. The set of pictures Misa drew to demonstrate the power of the eyes was taped up on his desk, more as a reference than any kind of keepsake. She'd signed it for him, and his mother found it adorable that he would keep something so trivial. Rem looked at it fondly now, and Light felt his insides turn. Could he really be less sensitive than a creature whose only purpose was to kill?

Apparently.

"I don't know what you have planned, but I gave up trying to understand you a while ago, Light Yagami. I assume that if your father manages to turn the case on Misa again, she will be caught?"

"I barely managed to keep them off of her last time, Rem." The lie rolled easily from his tongue, just like all the others, and likely the thousands more that would follow before his death.

"And she will die if she is captured."

"It's almost a certainty. L would not show mercy to Kira." Irony. Bittersweet Irony.

"Protect her." Rem fixed her eyes on his again, and Light inwardly growled. Really, this sentimentality was getting on his nerves.

"What do you mean?"

"I will kill Soichiro if you promise to make sure that the case does not return to Misa. She cannot fall under suspicion again. Promise it."

"No. I will try, but I will not promise it." Rem smiled at him.

"You could gamble with the best of us Shinigami, Light."

"Be that as it may, I see no point in making the promise. You would not trust me anyway."

"True. You're very good at this game."

"It's not a game. That's why I'm winning."

Rem chuckled. "I could always kill you instead, Light."

"To what purpose? If I die, the investigation would only turn to her anyway, and without me, she's lost. She'll give up…maybe even turn herself in." Rem just nodded, cutting him off with a wave of her skeletal hand.

"I understand the logic…I also have the luxury of knowing that I'm well-trapped. Still…the idea of killing you appeals to me."

"At this point, no matter when or how I die, Misa would fall. She'd be the only suspect, and L would break her in a matter of days."

"Yes, I know." Rem drifted down through his floor again without another word. Light sighed to himself. He hoped she had the sense to wait until they were in the investigation room...

Still, it was safer to head downstairs. If she decided to kill him tonight, he needed to have witnesses.

XXXX

Rem had her share of common sense apparently. When Soichiro's chair slid back across the floor as he crumpled and missed it, the entire team was present.

"Yagami-san?!" It was L who reached him first, being closest, but it was Light who reacted with the most panic.

"Dad!"

As a loving son should, of course.

He shoved L out the way, falling to his knees and pulling his father to sit up.

"Dad, what's wrong, what's going…Dad? Dad?! Oh God, it's Kira!" Someone was pulling him away, and he fought, slipping into terror like a well-tailored costume. He never needed to rehearse...he had a gift for manipulation in all its forms, acting included.

"Light, stop it!"

"But he killed my father! He knows, he knows who we are, we're going to die! DAD!"

Matsuda locked his arms around Light's chest in an unforgiving hold, and between breaths Light mentally cursed him for trying to be the hero…he was going to bruise.

He was half-drug, half-carried away from his father's corpse, and he saw L pick himself up carefully. The slight narrowing of his eyes told Light that he didn't approve of this, not at all, but fuck him. It worked didn't it?

Yes, because Aizawa was turning his eyes from the Chief's body to his computer screen, wondering why, searching for a clue…

Yes, his eyes widened…HA! Victory.

"Where's the Shinigami?" Light clawed his way out Matsuda's restraint, glad to give him a scratch or two in return for the marks on his ribs. "Where's Rem?"

He was already out the door, searching for a sign, anything…He turned the corner and found it. The pile of bone sand that was a shinigami corpse. Sticking out of the top was a black corner. His mind raced for moment…Hide it or bring it back?

XXXX

L watched Light dash out the door and his instinctive paranoia kicked in. He'd done well, up until then, but that was too planned…why would he suddenly run off and leave his Father's body? He followed, stepping out into the hall and glancing both ways. Light was no where to be seen. He bit at his thumb harshly as he stepped back inside. His eyes fell on the killer notebook on the table, and he bit even harder. It had no master, now that Soichiro was dead.

Was it worth it?

Possibly. Better than allowing an alternative. He stepped over and brushed his fingers over the cover in passing, claiming ownership of the notebook.

"Ryuuzaki…" L pulled his eyes from the door to glance at the man.

"Yes Aizawa-san?"

"The Chief was reviewing Misa's files." L frowned and came to stand next to him, mentally apologizing to the old investigator at their feet. He was right, the old case files and security clips were up on Soichiro's screen.

"Something must have happened…something to bring his suspicion of Misa back."

"Of Misa?" Light's voice in the door, numb with shock. L turned and his eyes fell instantly on the black book in his hands. Light held it up, his voice a pained monotone. "She killed him…I don't know why. They're both dead."

Light tossed the notebook on the table next to the other.

_That's two of the four currently on the human world. The others are Ryuk's…his personal note, and the note belonging to Misa. When L captures her, that notebook would come into my possession as well. _

Light moved to sit at his father's side, staring blankly into his face. Someone had closed his eyes while Light was gone. The room fell quiet as the panic dissipated…if Kira were to kill the others, he'd have done it by now. Light stared into his father's face, and felt a twinge of regret…just once, just as he had when he first decided to kill to protect Kira's name and work. While their deaths were necessary, that didn't make it easier to do. Still, with a final apology, he shoved it aside, as he had before, and as he would do each and every time he murdered someone.

Justice was a hard ideal to live by.

L watched the interaction objectively. The rest of the team, Matsuda especially, was in various stages of grief. Light looked for all the world to be heartbroken…L knew better. He felt that strange flash of anger and paranoia again at the youth's tactics. He'd murdered his own father to secure his future. If L had ever doubted, it was a distant memory. The lengths to which Kira would go surprised him, though they shouldn't. L didn't like to be surprised. Of course, now that Soichiro was dead, he could follow Light's logic flawlessly. With the discovery of Soichiro's suspicions, L would have no choice but to re-open Misa's case, and pursue her again.

Something told him that Light intended for her to be caught this time, however.

Pity…she was a bright person. It was hard to imagine her as a murderer…no, never mind. After seeing the way she worshiped Light, and her support of Kira, it wasn't. Considering the two were the same person, he could very easily see Misa killing.

_Killing in the name of Love… _

The Irony of it left a bad taste in his mouth. Still…the corpse of a man he respected lay cooling on his office floor and that needed tending to.

"Move him to the couch. I'll call Watari for a stretcher."

The rest would have to wait for a while.


	5. Cards down

AN- Alright ladies and gents, here we have the players show their hands. I regret to tell you that my internet position is currently unsteady at best. Meaning...ours has been cut off, and I'm currently hacking my neighbors' wireless. (polishes halo) I will update as soon and as frequently as I can, and if I don't get around to replying to messages, please be patient. Also, I have a forum called Concerto in D Minor that you're all welcome to talk to me on...I like talking to my readers. It's listed under the DeathNote forum guide, drop by and say hello. Yours until the next update.- Kani

"L, I fail to see how this benefits us."

"Watari, calm down."

"No! No I shall not calm down, L. You've just invited the worst criminal the world's ever seen to LIVE with you! How can you expect me to calm?"

"Watari, he wants to learn."

"That rubbish and you know it. He's trying to kill you."

"Yes well, it's a fair exchange don't you think? A stale-mate in the Kira case, in exchange for a partner who actually knows what the hell I'm saying."

"L…he's not human. He's a killer, and he'll never stop being one. You can't just…reform someone who's been slaughtering thousands of people with no opposition for almost a year. I mean, look at him, you can see the way it's gone to his head."

"I still think he can do some good."

"And I think you're bloody Mad. Light Yagami is dead, L. He died the moment he tested the Deathnote, if not the moment he picked it up."

"Watari, please."

"Don't. Watari. Me. I have raised you since you were seven, and we've worked countless cases together. Why him?"

"He's fresh, he thinks clearly."

"Why not Mello or Near, hmm? They're both young. Why not someone we can trust? Or is that just part of your game…playing with fire."

"Watari, you're not listening."

"No, you're right. Because I've never, ever, heard you sound so…average. This isn't like you L. You're doing this because you want to, not because it has any strategic value. You're more likely to break the case with a skilled team, not by living with the suspect."

"Oh, yes, because that's worked so well the last year or so…"

"L, he's hiding things from you. You're not thinking clearly, you've already admitted you care about him…worse, you TOLD him that. He'll use it, L. He'll use you."

"The decision's been made. I'm not abandoning the case, Watari. Light will go to jail for his crimes, and he will die accordingly."

"Yes, and he'll take you with him."

"Watari, that's enough. I'll be careful. I promise."

"Don't promise me that…you promised me that years ago, and if you'd meant it then, you wouldn't be doing this now."

"Things aren't that simple anymore."

"What's not _simple_, L? He's a _murderer_. He's killed thousands between him and that…that ditz he's stringing along. And now, you're offering him a way out simply to suit your own purposes."

"Watari…please, just drop it."

"I would…but I worry L. I don't like this. I don't like _him_."

"I know…I said he was my friend, I didn't say was thrilled about it."

"L…why are you doing this?"

"There are just…too many wildcards. Too many players, and think it will go much more smoothly once the rest of them are taken care of."

"Taken care of? What, do you plan to let him kill off the entire team?"

"I did not think he would murder his father. However, I must say now that he has, his plan is obvious, and just might work."

"What? Kill them off one by one, until that fool Matsuda finally figures it out?"

"Watari, don't insult him, he's a good man."

"So was Soichiro."

"They all are, and no, I don't think he plans to kill anyone else…"

"You don't think? L, are you listening to yourself? You 'don't think' he plans to murder anyone else in the immediate vicinity, and that makes this okay."

"He's after Misa… he plans to put the case on her and Higuchi."

"…and you're going to let him, aren't you?"

"Unless a better offer comes my way."

"L…I don't think I have to tell you how utterly disappointed I am."

"Look at it this way…he'll be with me. He can't kill anyone when he's with me, and it closes the case. That way I can take on other cases. I've neglected the rest of the world too long, Watari."

"In the endeavor to save it, you've put off lesser tasks. There's nothing wrong with that."

"I'm just biding my time. When he slips, I'll catch him, and he will get the death penalty. Until then, he'll be at my side, under constant observation, doing something to redeem himself."

"L…that doesn't fix things. You can't _fix_ murder."

"I know that. He's not fixing anything. However, he owes the world something, don't you think?"

"L…"

"Yes?"

"That's not justice."

"…Justice comes later, Watari. I could really use your support in this."

"My support? You've always got that. My usual cherub-like demeanor? I'm afraid you're out of luck."

XXXX

"Misa, I don't know what to do. I had just to kill my own father to keep him off me!"

"Oh Light, I'm so sorry…"

"It's not your fault; I've just…run out of ideas."

"Light, don't say that! We're not done fighting. Kira will win this!"

"He's got me backed into a corner, Misa. God, I can't think, I can't sleep…"

"Light, stop it…"

"It's just a matter of time until I slip up, I know it…"

"Light, listen…"

"God, Misa, he's going to kill me…I'm such a coward…I had no right to try to fix everything. Now my father's dead, thousands of people are dead, and it's my fault."

"Light Yagami!"

"Huh?'"

"Listen to me…Nothing's gonna happen, okay? We're gonna save the world together, remember? My knight in shining armor?"

"Yeah…shining ball-point armor."

"That's right…we'll be fine. He's not gonna touch you, or I swear, MisaMisa will kill him."

"Misa, don't…"

"Hush. We'll be fine. I promise. Nothing's going to happen."

"But he's breathing down my neck…"

"So turn around and stab him. We've got this down, darling…don't worry so much. You just calm down a bit, and that amazing mind of yours will start working again, and you'll see the way out. You're simply too good to let some pervert throw you off like this."

"Pervert?"

"Oh yeah…he grabbed my butt the day I met him, remember?"

"You knew that was him?"

"Yeah…see? He's not so clever!"

"Yeah…okay."

"Now calm down…go take a bath or something. That's what Misa does when she wants to strangle her agent."

"Strangle him, huh?"

"Matsui was sweet, but Mogi-san is just too serious!"

"Misa?"

"Hmm?"

"When the world is perfect…will you marry me?"

"…If I live that long."

"Very funny."

"I'm not joking this time, Light."

"Misa, don't do anything stupid…"

"Of course not. I'll see you soon, okay? Relax."

"Misa?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks…a lot. I love you."

"Oh…um, I…I love you too. I hate it when you make me blush like that!"

"I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks for calling."

"Thanks for listening." Light hung up with a shudder of revulsion, tossing his cell onto the bed. Instead of heading for a 'relaxing bath', he reclaimed the seat in front of his desk and stared at the phone on his blanket, running through a mental checklist.

Misa was furious and worried sick. As far as she knew, L was wearing away at him, and he was starting to crack under the pressure. She was determined to do anything to take suspicion off of him, but he hadn't started steering her in the right direction just yet. That'd come later.

Aizawa was bringing the case around to bear on Misa. Once it was fully decided, they'd begin pursuing her. Light would probably only have one more conversation with her before he had to cut himself off. Better to let her come to her own dramatic conclusions…they were exactly what he had in mind. Besides, once the team began surveillance again, he couldn't exactly talk to her about their plans anyway. He'd drop the hint, and then give her just enough rope to hang herself with.

He wasn't sure when his new idea had taken hold, but it was certainly much more appealing than the domestic choice he'd tried to console himself with. Not only would it be the perfect battle, it would be an almost perfect victory...a way to utterly destroy L, and everything he stood for.

Once the entire matter was over, he'd have all the time in the world to amass his evidence against L. When Watari was gone, he'd break away and set everything into motion.

Few things would be sweeter than pinning the entire Kira case on L, the Greatest Detective in the World.


	6. The Logic of Justice

AN- Small bit of Matsuda here, because he's great and stuff...I know this is short, but it's important to the story so bear with me. I'm sorry it's taking so long to update, but I've recently been hired into a professional kitchen. Time is short. I am also still without internet. I will update and soon and frequently as I can write and steal bandwidth. Bear with me please. Lesse...Ashes and Wammy shall be up soon. Most likely Wammy first. Yours until then. -Kani

L watched Light hang up his phone again a few days later, leaning in the doorway as the young man talked. Misa's voice was almost audible from the other end of the hall. Light slammed it shut, and took a moment to compose himself before turning around.

"I don't know if you were acting then, or acting now." Light turned, noticing him for the first time. He shoved the phone in his pocket, returning the detective's stare.

"Perhaps I wasn't acting at all."

"There is a flip side to that coin, Light-kun." L scratched his leg idly, watching Matsuda boot his computer up and yawn. Now that the Chief was gone, Matsuda was the first to arrive at the building, though Mogi and Aizawa often arrived together. They rode the same train to the station a few streets away. "We're putting Amane back under surveillance."

"Good."

L rolled his eyes to the ceiling for a moment before bringing them back to Light's. His sarcasm was singular in that he only showed it by biting the tip of his tongue either just before or afterwards…one of the many quirks that the teen had picked up on while rooming with L.

"You don't even bother to act surprised at that." There…the flash of pink between his teeth.

Light shrugged, lowering his voice slightly. "Why bother? I think we both know what happens next."

"Indeed. Still, I find it rather refreshing to see honesty on your face…cruel and detached as it may be, it is still a rare thing coming from Kira."

"Kira deals only in truths…it is the weakness of the heart that lies to us."

"It is from that weakness that Justice was born. Justice far predates Kira, Light…in comparison you're merely a child playing in Daddy's suits."

"Daddy was buried in his suit, L. No one is playing here."

"It is the weakness of the heart that Lies to us." L quoted. Before Light could answer, the detective left him there, heading for his computer. His passing broke the sad stare that Matsuda was giving the Chief's empty worktable. Luckily, Matsuda wasn't one for early morning conversation, and L took his hour or so of silence with sheer gratitude.

L did not like chatty people.

Light followed him in a moment later, and Matsuda gave him a small smile and wave. Light squeezed his shoulder briefly in passing, speaking the silent language of shared loss, and it made L want to throw his keyboard at him. He still had not quite forgiven the boy for killing his own father. Objectively, it showed a level of detachment that would serve him well in the upcoming work, but personally, it aggravated him to no end. He supposed it was because he'd seen just how hard Soichiro worked to prove his son innocent…and Light had just traded his father's soul for his own.

Justice indeed.

L reached behind his monitor and pulled out a package of Pocky, deciding to start the morning light. He could work and eat pocky at the same time, and he had to do a follow up on Misa's current residence. Placing cameras could be done in a few hours…it was coordinating and deciding on the locations that was time consuming. L personally saw to the placement and direction, drawing detailed diagrams to give to his team.

Light watched the other two settle in to work, and began making the coffee. The corporate machine L provided was terrible, but Light had worked it long enough to figure out its kinks and make a decent cup of coffee. It much endeared him to the team…until he stole the coffee pot the second everyone had a cup.

Light was possessive of his coffee.

"Ryuuzaki…Can I ask you an honest question?"

"If you must, Light-kun."

"Do you really feel that Kira's ideals are wrong?"

L turned away from his diagram of Misa's house to stare at him. Even the sound of Matsuda's typing died off after a moment. Light refused to look back at him, idly clicking through a file and sipping his coffee. There really was not point to the question or the coming conversation, but he was intolerably bored. It seemed a good enough reason to annoy the detective. L waited a bit before answering him.

"I think Kira's ideals a childish and weak."

"Agreed…I don't understand how he can fancy himself a God. What about you Matsuda?"

"…I'm not sure." Both detectives turned to stare at him, and Matsuda crossed his arms in thought, regarding his screen carefully. "I think…well…"

Light turned his chair around to listen, and Matsuda shifted uncomfortably between the combined stares. "I think you don't understand it because you're a genius, Light. You're just…different. You don't think like normal people do."

He smiled suddenly, finally returning their looks. "It reminds me of something that the Chief used to say… 'The only difference between Justice and Revenge is the number of People involved.'"

L frowned. "Explain."

"Well, if you think about it…" Matsuda returned to his report, talking offhand as he scanned through the data. "…those after justice, both the public, and those directly affected by a crime…they all want the same thing. People are very pack oriented however."

"Pack oriented?" Light scoffed. "You're comparing us to animals?"

"We are Light. When it comes down to it, the only thing that sets us apart is our intelligence…and our arrogance." Matsuda continued easily, ignoring Light's disbelief. "And we are pack-like in nature…think about cities, and towns. We gravitate towards other people. Most of us are uncomfortable living alone, in a place with no other humans."

"It is sound logic, Matsuda-san, but what does that have to do with justice?" L inquired, staring at his toes as they flexed on his chair. He was curious to hear the young officer out, now.

"We tend to base our beliefs off the common ground, that's all." Matsuda frowned at his screen. "We all want the same thing, but we're usually frightened by it. If you're the victim, you want revenge, you want to punish the criminal, and you don't really care how it happens. There are exceptions, people who believe in the law, but even they share the basic desire for revenge…it's just human nature. We, the people, are frightened both by the criminal and the victim, because they don't care about us and how we feel about the situation. It's much easier to act upon something when people agree with you."

Light considered his coffee, picking up the line of thought. "So, you're saying that the justice system comes from our need to be accepted…"

"Yes, exactly. It's wrong for us to kill someone who murdered our family…but the second we get enough people…say a court and jury, to agree that they need to die, it's fine. It's a simple matter of what's socially acceptable…That's the difference. Justice and Revenge is just a matter of people…a matter of how many people agree with your beliefs. Kira can kill and call it justice because, whether we like it or not, there are people to support him. He's childish because…even he hadn't been accepted he'd have kept going, until people accepted him out of fear."

L cast a sidelong glance at Light and resisted the urge to smirk.

"He's taken on the role of the victim, and there are just enough people intrigued by the idea of vigilante justice for Kira to justify himself. It's just the way we function, that's all…" Matsuda continued. "The only difference between Justice and Revenge is the number of people involved…and that's because it's our nature to depend on one another, to play off of each other's strength's and weaknesses. The only reason you don't get it is because you're so detached…you're not like normal people, either of you. You don't think about the general opinion, because all your lives, the general opinion was weak…out of place and not your own. And while you may understand it…you can't really accept it. It will never be an infallible truth, like it would be for me or Ide. Make sense?"

Matsuda finished and found both detectives staring at him. He blushed a bit, embarrassed by his own rambling and took a large gulp of his coffee, burning his tongue.

Light broke the silence. "Amazing…"

L nodded, toes still twitching in his curiosity. "Quite."


	7. Models and Murder

AN- Okay, finally, this story is starting to flow with me. In case you couldn't tell, the first few chapters were almost forced...I was having trouble getting this thing moving. Last chapter and this one, however, I think it's finally starting to click. My writing should return to it's usual level and stop sounding so blocky and hesitant. This story is now officially serious with me. -Kani

"Heeeeey…they put cameras in your house too!" Ryuk scuttled across the walls, peering into corners and air vents. Misa didn't move, still staring at her reflection as she brushed her hair. The news didn't surprise her at all, not after that last phone call. Light had been so worried, warning her about the upcoming trials. She sighed and began pulling her hair back. Sometimes, it was as though he thought her stupid. It was because he himself was a genius, she knew, but it was frustrating none the less.

Cameras in the house…that meant there were cameras in her cars, and likely someone tailing her at the photo-shoots…

"Guess that means you can't talk to me anymore can you? Do I still get apples?" Misa nodded gently, as though assuring her self of her hair. Ryuk laughed to himself and continued scouting the house. Apparently Light had been downright stingy with the fruit, but Misa was generous by nature, and Ryuk loved her for it. She'd seen him go into withdrawals exactly twice, and she hoped it never happened again.

Cameras…now, how could she work around those?

She pulled out her shoebox of manicure tools and went out to the couch. After a minute of fishing for the remote, she turned the T.V to some sitcom and sat there thinking. The black fingernail polish came off with practiced ease, the ruby red and tip liners easing into place. Dressers, tablets, the kitchen drawer, beneath the towels in the cabinet beneath the sink in the bathroom…individual sheets of DeathNote she'd set aside and hidden were all over the house. The Note itself was kept in a non-vital drawer of her clothing…one that she wouldn't have to open if she suddenly found herself under surveillance. The tip-liners went on, covering ends of her nails.

"He's gone all out with you…346 cameras and counting, with audio."

Misa fudged a nail on purpose, sitting up as though remembering something. "Did Mikatsu get my limo back?! Shit…I'll have to call him tomorrow…he's always messing with my things…"

Ryuk chuckled to himself and scuttled out to the cars, taking the hint. Misa expertly wiped the nail clean and repainted it. Cameras in every room…bathroom included. He'd likely have tapped her internet and phones too. She frowned and recapped the red paint, staring critically at her nails as she waited for it to dry.

"Cameras in every car but that beat up red one…" Of course, Misa thought, blowing on her nails impatiently.

Misa-Misa wouldn't be caught dead in that car. Shit.

She pulled the black paint over and peeled the liners off, considering her schedule. The house was on lock-down…there was no way she could kill while at home anymore. The customary model-syndrome kicked in, and her frustration at having her schedule interfered with showed when she over did her middle finger, Black paint spread too far, and she took a minute to calm down before capping it and reaching for the polish remover. Instead of trying to take the black off, she just stripped the entire nail of color. No room for error…none. She finished the black, resolving to repaint the mess-up last.

So the house was out…cars had cameras, but she could talk names onto paper, so that was useless. She caught a glimpse of the shinigami hovering overhead, and paused. She could always read name to him and have him write them for her… No, Ryuk wouldn't be that helpful, no matter how many apples she offered him. Dictation was out. She switched hands and continued thinking, pretending to listen to the show and painting during commercials.

She had a back up list…fifty names saved in her cell phone, an emergency list for a situation like this. They were scattered throughout her contact list, and she knew that L would likely just be monitoring her phone calls at first. Later, when that didn't pan out, he'd start paying closer attention. Light had said that at first, he'd just be looking for an excuse to dig deeper.

Even L would find her contact list daunting. She thanked her model training, but she knew enough about the industry to weed out the names of people that held false positions. Like secondary Make-up…she was under contract with company, any other work would void her agreement. Risky, but it was a last resort after all…the list was simply there to buy time enough for Light to give her instructions.

She trusted him, after all. Painting done, she capped the colors and paused before putting the box away. After a moment's hesitation, she pulled out the rhinestones. They were set to the side as she relaxed; her hands safely out of harm's way.

So she had names…now she needed opportunity. She ran through her list of hidden paper again. The bathroom stash had potential, depending on camera placement. Scribble a name when she went in for a towel before showers…maybe two if she 'forgot' to grab one for her hair. She made a mental note to have a distant assistant pick up more apples and have them on hand at the next photo-shoot. A little bribery would get her the general description of the blind-spots.

Kitchen? No, too risky. Misa didn't cook, didn't plan on cooking, and had absolutely no interest in picking the skill up. Besides, it was better publicity to eat out, meet and greet fans on their own terms. Kitchen was out. She picked up the sheet of rhinestones and critically began placing them on the outer corner of the black stripes.

Closet? No, too many clothes, no reason for a pen, cameras.

Couch? No, cameras.

Bathroom? Maybe, worth bribing about.

Cars? Worth bribing.

She finished one hand and inspiration hit her. The tablets…autographs. The other stones went on without flaw and she put the box away. She constantly signed autographs during shoots…and during filming. There were quite a few pages of deathnote stashed in the back of each tablet. If she were surrounded by fans, the person that tailed her wouldn't notice her flipping to the back of the tablet every few signings. She could memorize the names in fives, and kill until she got in touch with Light again. Simple, but effective…and it proved that she was useful.

Misa smiled again as she went to the bathroom to wash her face before bed. The next week was taken care of…she wouldn't be working at a fraction of what she had before the surveillance, but she'd be doing something, at least. Enough to keep that nasty detective off of Light for a few more days….hopefully, long enough for Light to think them out of this.

She idly wondered how many other models contemplated murder while painting their nails.


	8. All in a day's work

AN- Yes I know you don't like her, but tolerate her for me for just a bit longer. You already know that I don't like her much either, and exactly what I plan to do with her. So nyah. I love the end to this one. -Kani

"Damn it…I haven't called Mikatsu yet…" Misa muttered to herself as she dug in her purse for her phone. The little machine was the bane of her existence on days like this, in the break between shoots when she finally had a few hours to herself during the day. She flipped it open and pressed the speed dial for her new manager, toeing her shoes off.

"Really, I think I preferred Matsuda…" The grumbling was all theatrical, because she had another reason for calling him. He was going to serve as cover while she set up her cell-phone trick. The ringing ended, and she braced herself.

"Hey Misa-baby! How you doing, eh?" Her shiver of irritation was not forced.

"I'm doing fine Mika-chan! I was just wondering if you'd finished up my new schedule?"

"Oh…Yeah, just hold on a minute. I gotta bring it up."

"Mm-kay, I'll get my planner." She sprinted down the hall to her office area, and pulled the little book out of the desk. Lime green, furry, and completely pointless but necessary. She already had her schedule… if she depended on this idiot to plan her work, she'd be laughed at. He was completely useless.

"Okay, you ready baby?" She grimaced at the endearment but her voice was still sugar sweet.

"Hold on, I'm gonna put you on speaker phone so I can compare, okay?" The man had a talent for ignoring previous appointments…once, she was scheduled to meet three different representatives, and attend a meeting at one in the same afternoon. She pulled the phone away and held down the speaker button. "Okay, go."

The man started reading off her schedule for the next two weeks. She was always booked at least that far in advance. She idly began scribbling into her planner with one hand, and flipping through her contact list with the other. Mikatsu's voice grated on her nerves, but again, necessary.

Why did the necessary things have to be annoying?

Finally, somewhere around Thursday afternoon, she interrupted him.

"With who?"

"Takeshi Obata. Make-up artist."

"Hold on, I need to add him to the list…" Lies, he was already there. Still, add new contact, erase old? No. Replace information? She deleted the number she just typed in and left it blank. Yes. Beep.

"Shit…"

"What is it Misa-baby?"

"I just screwed my contact list…hold on…" And…go. She turned and blocked the screen from any cameras and began assigning the criminals to alarms on her phone. Once set, they'd ring every few minutes as scheduled, and a picture would pop up. Names and lifespans seemed to hover over the tiny LCD screen and then fade as she scrolled and selected the ones that didn't match the contact listing. Ten, twelve, no that one was too close…actually better to leave it…it'd have to look like she was actually receiving phone calls. Fifteen, good…She set the timer, and reviewed her schedule one more time. New events, colored red with little bell symbols next to them dotted the page of the electronic planner in her phone.

"Okay Mika-chan, fixed it. Go ahead."

Why were the necessary things annoying?

XXXX

"Hi! Nice to meet you!" Misa twirled her gold pen and smiled brightly at the young man before the table. She winked flirtatiously and asked, "So…who am I making this out to?"

The poor boy almost fainted. She almost wished she didn't have to ask every time…really, his name was floating above his head for crying out loud. She might have made the trade even if it weren't useful to Light…just so she could use them for autograph signings. Misa's smile never faltered, despite the twinge of nausea that pervaded her stomach at his stammering reply.

"Toji, huh? Cute."

She hated teenagers. She scrawled the name in huge flowing letter across the tablet and kissed the corner before signing her name. Red lipstick, gold ink, and worth about a grand on online auctions. Her smile was real for second…sometimes she loved her job.

Right on cue she tore the page out and paused as her little phone began dancing across the table. She pouted and waved the next group of girls up.

"Gimme just a second honey. Heya, This is Misa-Misa!" She spoke to a non-existant voice and slipped her thumb to the back of the tablet. "Another one? Oh god, I don't know if I have time! Okay….Yes, of course I'll try! You tell him Misa-Misa won't let him down! Yeah…okay, bye!"

She pulled the phone down and glanced at the picture before dismissing the alarm.

"Oh I'm sorry girls…another schedule change! They'll work a girl to death!" The group made some pitying sounds and she lifted the page and scribbled onto the Note paper. The list was already up to four, and she'd have to ration them out until she found time to spill something on her planner…she had to have an excuse before calling Mikatsu again.

"So, Ladies, gimme names! And that jacket is adorable by the way, I just love the color."

XXXX

"Matsuda, what is she doing?!"

"I told you! She's just signing names and taking pictures!"

L and Light sighed and stared at the microphone like the detective could feel their stares. He could apparently, or knew them well enough to guess.

"Guys, I'm serious, she hasn't left the table all day. She can't be writing on Death Note paper, or else there'd be a small screaming riot at the Shinigami following her around, don't you think? Can't I just go and…"

"Matsuda, NO!" L snapped cutting him off. "If you talk to her, she'll realize she's under investigation, and she might kill you. This is Kira we're dealing with…not Misa-Misa."

"Right…sorry…"

XXXX

"It's not that big a deal Amane!" Misa crossed her arms and stared her assistant down. Some people just didn't understand how this industry functioned. She didn't need those people on her team.

"Let me put it to you this way. You were assigned by the agency to handle all the clothing that this company sent to me, correct?"

"Yes."

"Meaning that when you leave it on the ground, and you don't take proper care of it, the company looks bad."

"I guess so."

"The company, however, didn't hire you. They hired me…and I'm supposed to make them look good. So when you don't care of the clothes, I look bad. They look bad."

"…Right."

"However, you don't work for the company. You work for me. So when the company can't fix the problem, which is you, they fire me." Misa watched it dawn on the girl, and that was the last straw…if she really couldn't think that far along, she didn't belong here. She was costing her both time and money, and if she didn't leave, there also wouldn't be time to bribe Ryuk.

"I'll do better next time."

"Next time was last week. I'm sorry, but I'm letting you go. Now. Leave."

"Amane!"

"I told you then, and I'm telling you now, you are NOT going to cost me any more money. I didn't get this far by allowing incompetent people to handle my affairs. I'm firing you."

"Only the agency can-"

"The agency will just re-assign you. They won't pay you as much, but you still have a job. You just don't work for me anymore. Have a nice day." Finally, _finally_, the girl stormed out. As though the devil himself were waiting on his cue, her cell phone began ringing shrilly from the make-up table. With a real phone call, no less…Misa could rip her perfectly bleached hair from her head in frustration.

"Ryuk…Apples. Five seconds. Go." The shinigami wasted no time and dove into the grocery bag atop the rack of clothing in question. Misa stood beside the tent flap a second longer before grabbing her phone and flipping it open. Voice sugar sweet, she answered it, still watching the black monster rip through the three apples and stuff the cores back into the grocery bag.

"Misa-Misa speaking!"

"Hey Misa-baby!" Oh god, if she could only get away with murder…

"Hello Mikatsu." The conversation was pointless, and as her manager, he should know how valuable her time was…this was ridiculous. She tossed the wrinkled clothing off to one side and accepted the plastic bag and tucked it into her purse. Listening to the manager babble, she tied the tent flaps open and looked out over the photography crew.

XXXX

"Matsuda, for God's sake, you're supposed to be watching her!"

"I AM Ryuuzaki! I can't see through walls though!" L threw his hands up with a cynical laugh and left the station. Light took his chair and tapped the microphone.

"Matsuda, can you see her at all?"

"She's just inside that tent thing, probably changing. Some girl just stormed out, I think Misa fired her…Wait, there she is." L counted to ten and returned to Light's side, shoving a palm full of gummy bears into his mouth.

"What's she doing?"

"She's just standing there…on the phone."

"On the phone? Shit Matsuda!" It was Light's turn to shove away in disgust, rolling the chair to the opposite station and fiddling with the taps. Soon the conversation came over the speakers, and they sighed in irritation. Just that idiot manager again.

"She's been on the phone a lot, actually."

"She's a model, Matsuda. That is perfectly understandable." L remarked around his mouthful of bears. He made a note to check her call history anyway…Matsuda hadn't mentioned anything about the calls until just now. They had no idea what 'a lot' could be. He leaned forward and tapped the mike again.

"Matsuda, Aizawa will relieve you in an hour."

"What?! But I just got here an hour ago myself!"

XXXX

"Oh, you clever girl." Light turned to glance at the detective, noticing the way his toes curled on the seat. He glanced between their screens, confused for a moment.

"Are we investigating the same woman, L?"

"Oh yes…I think I've got her." Light was a little creeped out by the way the detective was smiling. He watched him blow a bubble with the gum in his mouth and sighed. It was just like L to make him ask what he was talking about.

"Find something?"

"Perhaps." The detective fell quiet again and Light felt a muscle in his temple twitch.

"Like?"

"Like false contacts."

"…She's been holding out for almost a week because of false contacts?"

"Quite likely. She's at a charity auction right now, isn't she?"

"I don't know, ask Matsuda." The man wasn't around to hear the quip, but Light was still irritated by the man's utter infatuation with Misa. He still couldn't bring himself to believe that she was a murderer, and so, in that happy place of his mind, she wasn't. They could have had her two days after the cameras went up if he were even remotely capable of doing his job.

"Yes, she is…a televised one, I believe. Please find it on the television." Light sighed at the request, but at least the bastard tacked a please onto it.

"Write down the time every time she writes something down."

So much for that. "Is there a point to this?"

"She's been setting alarms to go off at random times while she's at functions. She assigns no other information to them except a contact." L took a moment to lean over and assault Light's computer, bringing up something on his screen. Light resisted the urge to throw the remote at the back of his head…he didn't even save the report before he closed it…just shut it down. "…And our database has proven the first four to be false contacts. In fact, if I pull up the file for recent deaths…"

"… The pictures should match."

"Meaning not only is she still killing, she's using the eyes, and doing it in plain sight."

Light turned to stare at the televised picture of Misa, sitting beside the door to a charity auction house and signing autographs.

"The autographs."

"Exactly." Light resisted the urge to cause him physical damage again and fetched paper. He took a seat on the couch and watched.

"Time?"

"Eight forty three and eleven seconds." Light scribbled it down, and watched with a critical eye as she dropped the remaining pages back into place.

"She's hiding it in the tablets…flipping it to the back when she writes them down…"

"Clever. I could fall for her, I think."

"I don't...Time."

"Nine oh two and thirty eight seconds. Why not?"

"You've never been on the receiving end of…that…"

"Agreed. I do not think I could date her. After this all we have to do is compare the list of criminals with the list you're composing." Thank you, Captain Obvious, Light thought to himself. He swore the detective was just doing it to get on his nerves. Suddenly, he smirked.

"…You are recording this, aren't you?"

L paused mid-bubble, glancing over his shoulder at Light and back at his screen. He leaned over again and typed something onto Light's keyboard.

"I am now."


	9. Lain to Rest

"Do you wish to talk to her?" Light glanced away from the glass and at the detective. Misa sat in the cell before him, her previous bondage re-applied, with the addition of heavy sedatives. Her head hung slightly, her hair unwashed and limp with sweat. She'd been tried and sentenced a week ago…found guilty of being the original Kira, with Higuchi serving as the second. It was simple arrangement, because the man couldn't defend himself from the grave.

And Light…Misa's only hope…stood not five feet away, silent until now. The detective pressed the question. "You may speak with her if you feel it would do some good."

"How long does she have?" L himself now turned his eyes to the glass, a sad and fond expression on his face. Light had given her just enough rope to hang herself with…without his support it was only a matter of time until she'd fallen. She'd lasted a week and a half before they'd polished their story and presented it to the team and the world. He felt…dirty. He felt cheap…almost as though Light had used him in much the same fashion. He knew the genius would try, too…before it was all said and done.

He crossed his arms and watched Misa try to lift her head, a hazy whimper signaling her failure. He was taking no risks…no, not this time. There were simply too many wildcards, and the sooner this entire sordid affair was cleaned up and taken care of, the better he'd feel.

"A week…perhaps twelve days at the most. The date has yet to be decided."

"And so ends Kira…" Light returned his stare to the cell as Watari entered from the door in the back. His eyes stared blankly at the empty space between the two detectives, but he knew that at least one of them was there. His baleful eyes and dignified scowl spelled out exactly what he thought of them as his gloved hands pushed the tray in. Light watched him take a rag and a bowl of hot water from beneath rack and set it atop. L let out a barely audible sigh as the old man began to wash the model's hair to the best of his ability.

"Does it, Light-kun?" The rag combed down the bangs, and Misa didn't have the strength to even respond to the touch. The latex gloves caught in the strands at first, but Watari wet his fingers and continued his task with silence and a quiet respect.

"Yes."

L glanced at him, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watched Watari go through his morbid task, trying to restore some portion of the girl's dignity. "Can you? Kill Kira I mean…"

"Yes."

"That means about the same coming from a heroine addict. Kira is not a person…Kira was an ideal. I know you, Light-kun…and Kira is far from dead." Watari moved to the other side, pulling her hair from beneath the blind-fold's strap to comb it out. L licked his lips before continuing, knowing that Watari was beyond furious with him. It hurt…that his companion of twenty years wouldn't speak to him at all now. "All you've done is put pieces into place that shouldn't have existed to begin with."

"Do you regret your offer?"

"Every waking moment. I am a man of my word however, so the point is null. We should discuss our terms…I'd rather have that taken care of before…" He gestured numbly at the glass and Light just nodded. They were quiet for a long moment, and Watari finished her hair and put the bowl below. He leaned in and spoke quietly into her ear, his words filtering through the microphones and into the observation room where the detectives stood.

"Amane Misa, it is time for your meal. I will remove the gag now. You are not to speak, you are not to scream. The food will only be offered once, if you refuse it, it will not be…"

The litany continued for a moment, rehearsed and repeated every meal. The gag came away, and she managed to lift her head on her own. The corners of her mouth were chapped and cracked, coated in dried blood, and if she lived long enough, there would be calluses from the thick fabric. The meal started with a drink of water, through a straw, and a foul-tasting ointment for the abrasions. It contained a topical anesthetic that cooled the pain, allowing her to open her mouth freely and chew her food.

L observed the proceeding without pause. "You will move, live, and work with me everyday for the remainder of your contract, without question. The handcuffs will no longer be necessary unless you give me reason."

"Agreed."

"You will train under me, and work for my organization. I decide all terms, tests, legalities, and the standards I set for you will not be easy." Light nodded, the prospect of the challenge sending a thrill through him. He watched Misa accept food from the gloved hands, much as he had during his own confinement. Watari did it with the skill and patience of someone who'd long been helping those incapable of the task.

Light crossed his arms. "Only my training may be recorded to satisfy any superiors you may have…there is no need for them to know of Kira."

" Agreed. The Kira case is officially closed but I will continue compiling my evidence against you in the event that you escape or break our contract."

Misa began crying half way through her meal, the blindfold catching her tears before they fell. Her sobs came over the microphones and echoed eerily through the small room. Light considered this condition for a moment…

"Only things written, recorded and observed during the time of my training may be used as evidence…and only if properly documented."

"…Watari will also be responsible for your observation and some portion of your training…his recording will be counted as liable evidence if documented as well."

Light met his eyes in the glass reflection and they stared each other down, eyes silhouetted by the pitiful figure strapped to the upright table in the cell. Light agreed, because that didn't really change much…he'd just have to be careful around the old man as well.

"Fine."

"You will continue using the Deathnote in scheduled executions. They will strictly be criminals that I have been authorized to dispose of, either through assassination or left to me because big names don't want to claim involvement."

"Big names?" L's voice dropped a bit in his disgust, his black eyes narrowing.

"Yes. Like the United States…China…"

"You seem to do a lot more than detective work."

"One can only be so powerful without getting caught up in some of the politics. Those will be few and far between though, I assure you. Most often criminals that escaped one country to wreak havoc in another…because they are not legal citizens of the second country, the homeland must authorize their execution. You would not believe how quickly a country would balk at claiming a mass murderer from their own soil."

"…I suppose I'll learn."

"You've made quite a mess of things, with your Kira act. People don't know what to think…their opinion of justice has been warped because some one made it powerful again."

A weak voice filtered over the speakers. "Please…please…I just…"

"We'll fix it."

"We have to…or the world will go insane. These executions will be strictly monitored by myself, as well as recorded."

"…Agreed. Finally…no outside involvement. I don't want to become some secret weapon used by the United Nations."

"Then this isn't the job for you, Light-kun."

"Amane Misa, do not speak." Watari's quiet voice followed his, and L noticed his shoulders trembling.

"As far as the world is concerned, you do not exist, Light-kun. You will be working with me as L…no one but my superiors will know of my apprentice, and even they will not know that you were the original Kira, and that you are still using a DeathNote."

"Please…I just want to see Light…let me talk to Light…I have to…" Light turned his attention back to Misa, peering coldly through the glass.

"Why must I use the Death Note for the executions?"

"We are going to research them together. I am not one to let something that deadly go unaccounted for, and the more we know about them, the better."

"Light…Light please…I'm scared..."

"Amane Misa, you have forfeited your break by refusing to cooperate." Watari slammed the plate back onto the tray and turned to stare back at the mirrored panel, his eyes tired. He took up the gag and Misa just sobbed harder as he forced it between her teeth. L sighed again at his expression, internally wincing when he slammed the door a moment later. It wasn't fair.

Light watched her cry with a thoughtful expression before sighing himself. "I need to go pack I suppose."

"Do you truly not wish to speak with her, Light-kun?"

Light paused, glancing between the man and the glass. He watched her shake for a moment, her small frame trembling in the layers of wire enforced bindings. Slowly his shook his head, turning his level stare to L's and holding it.

"No. Think it cowardice if you wish, but I don't." L nodded, scratching his leg idly as he replied.

"In truth, while cowardice did jump to mind, that is not what I'd call it. It is quite unexpected from you, really."

"Oh? Is there a better term that I'm lacking?"

"No…not a better term…perhaps a more accurate definition."

"I just sentenced her to death, L. I don't want to talk to her, even after everything she did for me. What would you call it?"

"…In any other situation, with any other people…I'd think you were the most craven filth I'd come across in my life." L returned his eyes to the glass, his words quiet.

"But here…with you…and with her…I'd almost say it was mercy."

"Mercy?"

"Yes…let her die thinking you had her best intentions in mind. Why break the rest of her?"

"There was more to her than that L…she killed just as easily as I did."

"I know…but here, now…all she has left to cling to is you. Her idea of you and her devotion to that image is everything she's got at this point. Perhaps I'm just too much of a coward myself to outright agree with you but...let her die without knowing. It's degrading enough for me to know that she will die because of you, instead of real justice at my hands...but let her have her dignity. There is still some strength there, at least…in love."


	10. Leaving a Life

AN- Apologies for this not only taking long but being fairly boring as well. I'm not happy with it, but again, it's one of those necessary chapters that puts things in place...all the tiny little details that I need to pull off the whole thing. Bear with me. Next chapter is...interesting. Also, I must ask you read the update on my profile, especially those of you reading my other stories as well. Thank you for your patience, and I wish you all well in your respective worlds. -Kani

It was raining…it always rained when Light didn't want it to. Grumbling bitterly, he stood outside the jet, waiting for L and Watari to arrive and let him in. He felt an absolute fool, standing in the rain in the middle of the airstrip next to an unmanned jet. L was off taking care of Misa's burial arrangements. She'd been executed two days ago.

Light wondered to himself if he should have spoken to her. L was right…almost. He wasn't sure what kind of peace she'd been given. While it was true that it would have crushed her to know that Light had intended to kill her all along, it would have solidified her fate in her mind. She'd have known exactly what was happening, and why. By not talking to her, he sentenced her to spend her last few days worrying about what happened to him. She died frightened and alone.

Light was shocked with himself really. The sheer amount of apathy required to pull off this ruse was nearly unfathomable, but here he stood…completely uncaring. Misa was dead…and it meant nothing to him. She'd been a faithful worker, if terribly misled, and he really didn't give a damn. In truth, he was almost proud of himself, but at some point he began to wonder just how much the DeathNote had really changed him. The summer storm almost masked the sound of the approaching car, but when the black Bentley pulled up, Light was more than ready. His coat was already soaked through.

L slid out of the car and glanced back at the airport's main building for a moment. Watari stiffly ascended the stairs to the cockpit and a moment later the hum of the engine picked up and swiftly advanced to a roar. Light glanced down at his two suitcases and wondered why he hadn't said goodbye to his mother. He also wondered where the hell Ryuk had disappeared to. He'd been attached to Misa when she was killed, but he hadn't shown up since. The thought struck him that he'd been released from the note because L took it when she passed away…that made L the rightful owner, and left Ryuk free. Perhaps he'd finally have some privacy. He glanced up when L, apparently satisfied with whatever he'd been looking for, ducked into the car and came out with a single briefcase and his laptop case. No…no privacy, that was dream long destroyed. The detective slung the latter over his shoulder and turned to follow Watari up the stairs, a second glance at the top telling Light that he was supposed to follow. He sighed and picked up his luggage.

The interior was nice, but it was…functional. This was not a luxury jet, and Light hadn't really expected there to be champagne and wines cooling between the seats. It was more an office than a plane, and as L set the briefcase down near a table and chairs duet, Light tucked his things into the overhead space.

"She asked to speak to you, you know."

"Yes I do." Light said it in a tone that closed that topic…he didn't give a damn if Misa loved him, and he never had. She'd served her purpose, and that was that. "Did you give her a funeral?"

"No. She was cremated and her ashes were set inside her parent's tomb. Tucked into a corner really…her name wasn't added to the plate."

Light turned to stare at him in surprise. He'd at least expected a small service, but no…that wouldn't work at all, he supposed. L watched him think it through and nodded before continuing. "Kira was an idea that would inspire genocide if properly presented. I'd rather her grave go unacknowledged rather than fall victim to the thousands of anti-kira evangelists…nor do I want it turned into a shrine, a place for supporters to pilgrim and mourn."

"She would have wanted to be close to her parents anyway…and she was far too public to allow an actual funeral anyway…"

"Also…it's just not my style, I'm afraid." Light chuckled when L said this, because he hadn't even considered it. L giving a full-scale public funeral to honor Kira? No…never.

"So you just dumped her in her parent's tomb?"

"No. I set her down very carefully."

Light's brow furrowed at the uncharacteristically rude remark from the man. L went about setting his laptop and securing it to the table while it booted, as though his sarcasm was something completely normal. Light invited himself into the chair across from him, but only received a sullen glance. He considered asking what was bothering L, but changed his mind, deciding that he'd rather be spared a long and possibly repetitive speech about his complete lack of humanity.

The realization that he'd just dodge the lecture, however, made him frown. He idly buckled the safety belt and stared out the window. Was he completely remorseless? He certainly didn't feel guilty, yet here he was evading the problem. No, he was just over thinking things. Light glanced at the dark eyes across from him, lit by the blue glow of the machine between them. Perhaps L was rubbing off on him after all.

It'd be slightly hypocritical anyway. It's not as if L were a considerate person either.

"Stop staring at me."

"I'm not."

"I won't dignify that with a response. You did not speak to your mother."

"I didn't feel the need to."

"That is rather pathetic, but again…perhaps for the best."

L turned to watch him fully now, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why?"

"I believe she knew." L remarked, as though it were an observation on the weather and nothing more. He finally met Light's eyes for a moment, but the teen was completely expressionless. Had that sunk in? He pressed a bit further, trying to discern Light's reaction to the news.

"Your mother is far from stupid, and especially with the death of Misa and your Father…I have no doubt that she is at least suspicious."

"Is there a point to this?"

So…it bothered him. L decided not to let him know that he'd actually told her. Sachiko had been heartbroken, but L had to do something…the death of Soichiro weighed heavy on him. He'd convinced her that Light would be redeeming himself. L returned to his laptop, scanning the news and browsing the web for a general idea on the world's response. A few "Kira Lives" banners were already appearing, and it wouldn't be long before the cults recovered and the fanaticism continued. It made him sigh. "I'm simply musing out loud, Light-kun. I suppose it doesn't make much difference if you're walking away or running…the end result is the same."

Running…the thought of him running from his problems made Light intolerably angry. So…his mother knew. No matter how delicately L had tried to tell him, the news was surprising, and made his skin crawl. He almost asked about Sayu, but bit his tongue. The jet rolled forward, and the ground faded away. It didn't matter…it didn't matter at all, because he'd never be returning to that life. That was something to look forward to at least. No matter where he went from here, one thing was certain.

Light Yagami would never be bored again.

XXXX

The jet landed and Light took a moment to breathe before stepping out. Still raining, always raining. Finally, he decided that no amount of hesitation would make the rain any warmer, and he set off down the stairs. Water immediately slicked down the back of his jacket, insuring misery even if he made it to the car.

He glanced over his shoulder to find L waltzing down the stairs as though the sun was shining. The rain pounded on, and Light strode towards the car before Watari could even parked it. They deposited their bags in the trunk and by the time they'd made it inside, Light was shivering. L himself sat as composed as ever, idly flipping through the updates in his phone. "Get used to the weather, Light-kun."

"Yes," Watari muttered from the front seat, "The sun never sets on the British Empire…It just rains so much that it doesn't matter."

"Where are we going?"

"I have bought a small cottage just southeast of Leicester."

"A city?"

L closed his phone and tucked it into his pocket. "Roughly, about three days if you were to walk the moor…though I wouldn't recommend it. It's just off the river."

"Why a cottage?"

"I don't need a twenty story skyscraper to keep up with one man, Light-kun. I assure you, it will have all the necessary securities, and the lack of neighbors. It's a two story fieldstone, quite nice in fact…" L nibbled at his thumb and pulled his phone out again. After a moment of clicking, he showed the screen to Light.

The picture was nice…but the idea was not. Light certainly hadn't planned on training in the middle of nowhere, and definitely not in this…cottage. "Will your equipment fit in such a small place?"

L seemed to consider the question…not a good sign. "I believe that, if properly organized, all of the servers should fit in the basement with three feet of walking space."

"They'll overheat."

"I have made accommodations." L frowned at him. "Unlike you, I have had much work to do in order pull this off. I hope you enjoyed your break, because I intend to get my pound of flesh for it. I think I'll begin with the sleeping exercises…"

Light ignored this. "How much longer until we get there?"

"Roughly four hours," Watari piped up again. Light just sighed and settled in.


	11. Chapter 11

AN- Okay, I'm sorry, but I can't stand screamer bands either...and Atreyu...(growls), they stole the name of one of my favorite characters from The Neverending Story. Atreyu was an indian warrior and they just...rawr. That's a rant, and I'm not ranting in my An. Nope. Next chapter coming soon. -Kani

Light had not considered this when L asked him his favorite style of Music. Classical, he'd replied, as though it were nothing important, because at the time, it hadn't been. It was important now, however. Very important, because L was blaring something ungodly, something American… something that didn't qualify as music.

Light had never heard of a 'screamer band' before, but the constant suicidal screams, thinly backed up by drums and the molestation of a perfectly good guitar was insulting. It was more than insulting…it was serving its purpose, and keeping him awake.

"What the hell is this any way?"

"Atreyu or something." L responded gruffly, his head buried in his knees as the bass and singer clashed terribly as a climax. He hated this music, absolutely hated it. It drove him insane.

"Turn it off."

"Can you handle it?"

"I've been handling it for three days, L…just turn it off." Light was too tired to even sound properly infuriated, but he tried anyway, for his dignity's sake.

"I meant can you handle the other methods I will have to use, should I turn it off?"

"I don't give a damn, as long as I get to put that CD in the microwave."

"You sure you don't like it?" The baleful glare that answered him was all the encouragement L needed, and he dove for the computer. The silence that filled the room was unbelievably blissful. They both took a minute to breathe, and then L stretched, reading something on his computer screen. "You know…for someone with your grades, I expected more out of you."

"I never had to stay up late studying."

"That's right…you resisted sleep only to murder people." L glanced over at him, noting the way he held his head low, and realized that he was already half asleep. Rather than face that monstrous music again, he got up and crossed to the bed. Without a word of warning, he grabbed Light's arm and pulled him off, to the floor. "Up…we're walking."

Light's baleful glare robbed the room of oxygen, but L persisted. "Get up and walk. Now."

"I'm up, damn it…", and he was…somewhat unsteady, but on his feet. He was nursing a headache to boot, and he'd lost count of the hours since he last dozed in the car. L knew…trust L to keep track for him, remind him of his weakness.

L remarked dryly as Light stumbled to the computer chair. "It has only been seventy eight hours, Light-kun."

"What's your point?"

Finally irritated, L walked over to the desk and shoved the boy to the floor. He unlocked a drawer and began digging. "My point is quite simple, really…", He paused and made a gun with his fingers, pointing it at Light's head. "I have a gun, what are you going to do about it?"

Light stared at the detectives fingers, and then back at L. The detective never wavered. "You'll stare at me? Well, that solves the problem doesn't it?"

"L, what are-"

"You don't get it." L withdrew his hand, a real pistol wrapped in his palm. It wasn't loaded, but there was no need for Light to know that. He trained it at Light's head. "I have a _gun_, Light-kun. What are you going to do about it?"

Light continued to stare at him. He knew that the gun wasn't loaded…all logic went against it, but he was tired, and he never did trust the detective. "…Nothing."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not…functional." He ventured, trying to figure out what L wanted from him.

"Ah…I see. So, because you are tired, and cannot think straight, I have leave to shoot you? Truly?"

L watched his partner frown, and rolled his eyes. "You are still not taking me seriously. There is a point to this, and while I am deriving a sadistic pleasure from putting you through hell, I am also trying to teach you something."

"What?"

L crouched down on the floor next to him, regarding him for a moment.

"That if someone really wanted to kill you, Light-kun, they wouldn't wait. So again," L pressed the barrel of the gun to his forehead, expressionless. "I have a gun Light-kun. What are you going to-"

Light moved, slapping the gun away from his head and trying to get a grip on it. There was a sharp pain at his temple that could have been the detective's fist, but then he was being rolled across the floor. There a hand at his throat, choking him, and with another crack, his head rapped sharply on the hardwood floor. He looked up to find L perched on his chest and then he was pistol-whipped lightly across the jaw. It was gentle, in comparison to what he knew it could have been…and would have been, if L were actually trying to kill him. His vision swam, adrenaline finally clearing some of his exhaustion away, but the gun was back already, cold metal dead between his eyes.

"Bang."

XXXX

Two weeks later, Light woke to frosty light in his room, the early gray of a dawning sun. It was one thing he did like about his cottage…it seemed to come straight out of a picture book. Strange really, to be trained in a place that looked like it should be in a children's fairytale…trained to deal with life-threatening situations and the unexpected. This was, in fact, why he had woken. His door had opened, and Light woke the second the latch cleared. Two weeks of intensive training, and he'd gotten perhaps six nights of sleep…none of them undisturbed either. The training was meant to lengthen his work endurance, prepare him to function the second he was pulled from sleep, as well as prepare him for the chance that someone would find them. Now, he could stay awake almost an entire week and still work at full capacity. It was absolute hell. He could tell the difference now, though, whereas before, he could have sworn L was just out for blood. When he woke, he was instantly alert. He could think and see clearly, assessing the situation. He found himself wondering if it would be a fight this morning, or if he was merely testing Light's sensitivity.

He opened his eyes, and named his 'attackers' position. "Foot of the bed?"

"Closer to the closet actually."

"Damn." And then there was no time for words as L tackled him. A fight it was then.

XXXX

"We should sort out possession." Light remarked from his desk in the loft. The entire second story was an open floor and office. The kitchen bedrooms and library were downstairs, with the laundry and L's array of servers and systems in the basement. The cottage looked smaller than it really was, and L was quite pleased with himself for his choice. It was thirty miles to the nearest village, and twice that for the nearest city.

"Agreed…let's start with the original." L pulled away from his computer to the table in the middle of the open space, rolling his chair over. Light did the same and they regarded the three note books between them. Today, they were just working, there was no training to be done, and the cameras and mikes were off. L had put Light into control of those, to ensure that his side of the bargain would be kept…no surveillance other than the training. Light started.

"My note…the original, marked one, was given to me by the Shinigami Ryuk. I released ownership of it and buried it when I was taken into custody. Later it became Misa's note, and I'd intended to have her kill you with it."

L nodded. "However, she did not remember my name… you decided to play Rem into the situation just in case, meaning that I would have died, had I not made you the offer. Clever."

"Thank you. Now, Because Rem killed my father and therefore herself, she released her note…number two. Note One, the original, was released when Misa was executed."

"Meaning I took possession of it when I took it out of the briefcase upon landing in Britain." L sighed, not at all happy to have the horrible tool associated with him. "Now…Number two…this was the notebook that Amane carried originally. The one that belonged to a dead shinigami?"

"Yes…his name was…Gelus, I think. He died to save Misa, and Rem felt she should have his note."

"I suppose a god of Death wouldn't think anything of handing off weapon like this."

"It isn't a weapon to them…it's just a way of life. Now, Misa surrendered ownership of this note, and Rem took it to Higuchi, of Yotsuba."

"When Higuchi was captured, your father was the first to pick it up, and he knew nothing of the 'ownership' rules?"

"Correct. However, that was fine, because it kept you off my back for a bit."

"I claimed this note while you were out getting Rem's…"

"Why?"

L frowned. "I am not sure…it was more impulsive than anything. I was quite irritated with you. So I am in possession of Ryuk's spare, and Gelus's note. Note Three, Rem's Note. You took possession of that when you found it in the hall after Yagami-san's murder."

Light twitched a bit at the word, but he was growing used to L's little stabs. "Yes, I did."

"And this was her personal note, meaning that because she is dead, there will be no shinigami attached to it."

"Correct."

The front door opened, and L peered over the banister to greet Watari. Light didn't bother to look or say anything at all. The old man was practically hostile with him, and they had rarely ever dealt with each other since moving here. Almost two months now, and the three of them had settled into some kind of rhythm again, learning to co-exist in this smaller space. Light had his own room now; though there were bars on his window…at least they were decorative. L was not taking any chances, and Light almost took pride in the fact that he was still considered a threat.

He hadn't made any moves yet…something wasn't sitting well with him. Light was not one to rely on instinct but even with Higuchi and Misa dead, he got the feeling that there was a piece missing…something he hadn't considered. His father was dead, and the Kira team had officially returned to work. Aizawa had been named the new director in his father's stead, and Light…Light had found his name listed under the casualty list.

Not that it mattered. It would only strengthen his case.

L leaned over the railing now, discussing the market with Watari. Light stayed back, out of sight. Watari tended to go silent whenever Kira entered the room…still, he couldn't help but listen to the two of them. There was a subtle change…If Light hadn't worked with L for over a year and half, he wouldn't have picked up on it. It seemed that Light's life was putting a strain on their relationship, subtle and well-hidden as it were. There was some level of camaraderie lost between the detective and his senior assistant.

Light really didn't care. He didn't like either of them, and he couldn't care less what they thought of him. He was here for a reason…and the old man's suspicions were likely well placed. It took all of Light's will-power not to smirk at the older gentlemen when he wasn't looking.

Overall…things were going well. Better than he'd expected…and now that he was here, it was just a matter of time and careful planning. With a final glance at the detective's back, Light turned back to his computer and his report.


	12. Unforseen Circumstances

L closed the file in his hands with a sigh as Watari's door closed down the hall. This arrangement was far from simple, but the lack of support was starting to wear on him, finally. He glanced up at the loft, where the sounds of typing carried down to the living room. Not simple at all…Light was still working, however, and he could have his fight with Watari once his fugitive in bed. It was nearing two in the morning anyway.

Light had become quite proud of his ability to stay up and work…L shuddered to think of the lives he was endangering by allowing Kira to learn his tricks. If Light had had that ability when he was still active with the notebook…things would have been a lot worse. File in hand, L began to climb the stairs, choosing instead to dwell on the plate of cookies that rested on his desk, nice sugar cookies, covered with icing and sprinkles…

His mind didn't register the fact that he was moving backwards until he slammed into the wall at the foot of the stairs. A small yelp of surprise, and the papers went flying, mingling nicely with the newly induced stars dancing across his vision.

"L?" Light called from the top, but when the detective shook his head to clear it and tried to answer, his voice died in his throat. There, upon the stairs, stood a shinigami…a beaked, winged monster with talons as long as L was tall. It stood staring at him, and he cringed to hear its voice.

"Humans are quite fragile. I apologize. Do you have my notebook?"

"L, what happened?" Light was moving down the stairs when he paused, watching the detective carefully. L was not looking at him, as he'd originally thought, but was instead focused on the spot of air about eight feet off the stairs. His eyes narrowed, and without another word, he raced up the stairs and dragged his hand across all three notes, not caring about ownership.

When he returned to the stair well, L still hadn't moved, but, as expected, the looming figure of a death god stood between them. LIght waited for the initial shiver of revulsion to pass before addressing it.

"Can I help you?"

The reaper turned to stare at him, squinting at his features as though trying to remember something. Behind him, L shook off some of his daze. "Light-kun, what is it doing here?"

"Light? You are Ryuk's Light?" The Shinigami became very excited, the fanged beak hissing as it spoke. "You must know where my notebook is!"

"I beg your pardon?" Light exchanged glances with the detective, who was cautiously picking himself up now.

"My notebook, The Death Note…you had it. Where is it?"

"Ryuk gave that note to me."

"I know, but he stole it from _me_! It is mine, and I need it back!"

"I'm…no longer in possession of the note." Light hesitated, and L went pale.

"Shinigami…I am."

The reaper turned to stare between the two of them. "I am confused."

"I now have possession of your note…there were a great many exchanges done." L repeated slowly.

"But…I must have it back. I will die soon if I don't; it has taken so long to find you. I must…" The reaper seemed to become very flustered, and without warning, it reached into the shadows of its chest and pulled out a scroll. It's black eyes scanned the page, and the creature wilted even further. "If a human…Oh no…"

Light was staring at the scroll like a piece of candy. "What is that?"

"These are the rules of the shinigami realm…and it says that I must wait for the human to die before I can have my note back!"

L licked his lips shallowly, also eyeing the papers. "Those contain information about the DeathNotes?"

"Yes…all of it." Light frowned as the beast began to pout…this was bad. This was very bad…he knew nothing of this shinigami, and leave it to Ryuk to have fun at another's expense. He began quietly, trying the calm the obviously upset death god.

"What is your name?"

"…Sidoh."

"Well, Sidoh, my partner and I need to talk. He does not know your ways…will you give us a minute?"

"I suppose.", Came the reply, and Sidoh simply drifted through the floor, still mournfully reading his scroll. L was on his feet instantly, and he leapt over the steps where the shinigami had stood like a cat over a cold puddle. Light was herded up the stairs to the loft again, and L took up a position by the banister, peering at the floor below warily.

"What the hell is it doing here?"

"Apparently, you are in control of the notebook that once belonged to him. Because you are the rightful owner, you either have to die, or give up ownership of the Note for him to get it back."

L frowned, rubbing the growing knot on the back of his head. "What did he mean die? Gods of Death shouldn't die..."

"Shinigami live to kill…by writing names in the Deathnote, they acquire the remaining life spans of their victims. Presumably," Light came to stand by the table, staring at the original note. "If a shinigami goes long enough without writing a name down, they cease to exist."

"That's horrible."

"That's their purpose."

"…How long has he been without it now?"

"Roughly a year and a half…Ryuk appeared to me during my last year of High school."

"And that's only if Ryuk stole it for the sole purpose of dropping it…he could have taken it earlier." L amended, still peering down the stairs. "How do I get rid of him?"

"You can't, unless you're willing to give up the note."

"Lives have been lost to acquire the Deathnote…If I give it to him, Soichiro will have died for nothing."

"You have the others to study."

"But that is the original… the start of the entire mess, and I am not done studying it. I will not give it to him, and that is final."

Light watched the detective carefully, his mind racing. This Sidoh seemed considerably distraught by his situation…this could be useful. "We could use him…he obviously has information, and he doesn't seem as bright as Ryuk. That's saying something."

"You propose a deal?"

"I'm not proposing anything other than taking advantage of the situation."

"And by situation, you mean him."

"…Call it what you want, but it'd be damn shame to let him go."

"Point taken. Can I not give him a few pages of the note to work with, and keep the note itself?"

"No…because you own it, the life isn't given to him."

"So he must stay…"

"And he seems the type to whine. I don't suggest getting him hooked on apples…the withdrawals are hell."

"I have to feed him?" L turned a little green at the idea. What did one feed a Death God? The liver of small children?

"No. I used the apples as an incentive for help however…they're like cigarettes."

L frowned at him. "So that's how you found my cameras…"

"Yes, but in truth, it almost wasn't worth the tantrums." Light nodded. "We need to figure something out, and fast…he could get impatient and try to kill you."

"I have a feeling that if he really wanted to, there wouldn't be much trying to the matter. He threw me with no effort at all."

Light almost remarked about how that didn't require much effort even for him, but decided this wasn't the time. A faint hissing told him that Sidoh was either losing his patience or getting more upset by the minute. "Look, I'll talk to him. We'll come to some kind of agreement. Perhaps we can talk him out of a translation of that scroll…"

L's eyes got wide at the thought of that… "That's information that no human has ever lain eyes on…It'd likely tell us everything about the Deathnotes…"

"As well as a bit more about the Shinigami themselves…"

"…Very well. We shall have to deal with him, I suppose."

"Just…offer him cookies and get him talking. If we lend a sympathetic ear, the rest should fall into place. Worst case scenario, we can always offer him Rem's personal note…it has the least history of them all."

"That is definitely worst case, however. I am not comfortable with the idea of these things in anyone's hands."

"Not even your own?"

"…No. They serve their purpose all too well." L glared at the table, where the three innocent looking black notes lay neatly by number. "The taint of death leaves a bad taste in my mouth sometimes."

Light glanced at the table too, but the only sensation he felt was the distinctive lure of power. Just once…he only had to get L to use them once, and the detective would understand…moreover, he would sentence himself to his own justice. Light suddenly smiled to himself…

He could make a game of this…


	13. Dealing with the Devil

L watched the hideous thing polish off his plate of cookies with unrestrained contempt. Sprinkles fell from his fanged beak to the floor, but L said nothing, content to watch as Light worked his magic. It made him sick to his stomach to listen to him talk…he addressed the god of Death as he would Misa, or possibly Matsuda.

Sidoh was about on par with their intelligence…while he wasn't stupid, he was forgetful and easily excitable. L waited until Light told him he wasn't getting a note right away to pass him the cookies, and the sugar seemed to do a little to ease his nervousness. Perhaps the filth wasn't entirely bad.

Thus far he'd said nothing, just sat at his station and watched the pair of them carefully. The beast continued to stare longingly at the black notes, and it made L uncomfortable. He understood perfectly that Sidoh's life was on the line, but so were thousands of others. It was becoming a constant balancing act, and while the shades of gray were numerous, there were still some that struck him as a bit too dark. He wouldn't in conscious let this Sidoh have a note.

However, that didn't stop the Death God from stealing one.

"Sidoh." He ventured. The conversation fell dead, and Light scowled at him for interrupting his work.

"I am to call you L?"

"Yes."

"Your name is strange. Why do you not wish to be called by it?"

"It is a very personal thing. Light-kun would kill me if he found out." The God turned to stare at his partner, but Light's face was set in stone. Sidoh clicked his beak in confusion.

"He said the two of you were friends."

"We are, but that is not enough. Now, Sidoh, I must make an amendment to this deal of yours."

"Oh no…what is it…"

"It is nothing serious, but I don't trust you. Do you understand?"

"Why do you not trust me…it is Ryuk who plays games with your lives. I only wish to extend mine to a comfortable level…"

"This isn't about Ryuk, and we will let you. That's bring me to my question…" Sidoh tapped his talons on the floor impatiently, and L just slid another plate of cookies over. "Can you tell us how many other Deathnotes there are here in the human realm?"

He knew the answer to this, what was he doing? Light's eyes narrowed, but he smiled at Sidoh encouragingly. "Yes, I'm curious too…"

Sidoh plucked a bunny with blue frosting from the plate and nibbled on its head as he thought. Crumbs fell to the floor and L kept himself from twitching in irritation.

"I am not sure if I am allowed to tell you that. One moment." He opened his mouth incredibly wide, wider than…well, humanly possible, and finished the cookie off in one gulp. It made L a little green in the mouth to witness, but when the shinigami reached into the void of it's chest and pulled out the scroll again, his undivided attention remained. He was damn curious about that scroll…the scholar in him itched for a translation, for a copy even…

Sidoh's small black eyes grew wide and he hastily rolled the delicate paper back up. "Oh no, no I can't. Nope…I will be put through agony for telling you, it says so right here, and while I don't like Justin, I trust him."

"Justin?"

"The Jeweled Skeleton…Jester of our king's court and the final word on all the important…things…" Sidoh waved the question off. "Anyway, It quite plainly states that I am not allowed to tell you how many Deathnotes or Shinigami are in your realm."

"Very well, then, Sidoh…thank you for trying." Justin, a jeweled skeleton? A shinigami King? And he couldn't speak of other shinigami either? Light's mind was racing and he decided not to interfere with L's questions. This Sidoh was telling them far more than he'd managed to weasel out of Ryuk and Rem.

Thank God for Idiots.

L was thinking along the same terms when he continued. "So you cannot speak on other Deathnoes. Meaning that as far as we all are concerned, these three are the only three that exist. If others are on the earth, they belong to other people."

"And I want MINE. I miss it."

" Sidoh…you can move through walls here, can't you?" L coaxed, the Sidoh puffed feathers.

"Yes yes, quite a trick, I know. And I can fly too."

"That's amazing." Light supplied, irritated with himself for having to sink so low for his schemes…honestly…

"Yes, quite. Now, I'm assuming that if you were carrying a Deathnote, it would move with you?"

Sidoh nodded, picking up another cookie. "Yes, it'd have to. They are not of your world, and therefore follow very few of your rules. For example, you could burn a Death Note, but its pages never run out, and they do not take up what you humans call 'space'. They are not defined in this realm as having a set matter, because the state of the Note is constantly changing."

"So, if you were to pick up a Death note, you could potentially carry it through a wall? Any wall?"

"Yes and….Oh I See! You are worried that I will steal the note!" Sidoh hissed excitedly, having caught on. "No, no, I couldn't…well I could, but it wouldn't do me any good, you see. You are the owner of the note, and it protects its master…it would be nothing more than paper for me, because it is bound to your soul."

"I am aware of that unfortunate detail. Sidoh, you seem to be fond of my cookies…"

"Oh yes…this fluffy stuff on top is quite fascinating on the tongue." He nodded enthusiastically and licked the icing off another one. L swore he'd never touch them again.

"Ah…I see. Well…these Deathnotes are very fascinating to me, Sidoh, and I would like to learn all that I can about them…and the Shinigami as well."

"…I like learning…" The Death God remarked, not entirely sure what to say in response to that.

"Good. How does this sound…if you promise not to leave, not to steal the notes, and not to kill either of us-"

"I hadn't considered that…"

L sighed and continued past the interruption. "…then you may stay with us, and have all the cookies you want. When we have finished our research you may have Rem's note."

"Rem?"

"Spongy white Female Shinigami?" Light offered, helpfully. Sidoh just gave him a blank look.

"I didn't know her."

"Well, she's dead now, so I guess…that's my…spare." L gritted out, hating every word. "And if you'll behave and let us continue our research, I will give it to you. It is not your original but it will keep you from dying."

"That sounds reasonable." Sidoh snatched another cookie and crumbs continued to rain. "Time is slower here, for you humans. My lifespan is not so short that I will die within the year, though it is shorter than it has ever been. You have until the month of my death to work."

"How long is that?"

"I will not tell you, so that let that be incentive to get your work done quickly." Sidoh grinned toothily, pink and blue frosting rimming his fangs.

Light bit his tongue to keep from sighing…it was quite annoying in reality, because L had just managed to do in three minutes what had taken him fifteen. Granted, he did it with no finesse, no flair, and about as bluntly as train, but as long as it worked, Light supposed he couldn't complain.

L smirked at him across the table, and Light reconsidered his stance on that. Bastard.


	14. Blind

The clatter of a teacup drew the detectives from their work. Light was working on a murder case, this being their day off from the Notes. L was reviewing Light's last aptitude test and adding his instructor's comments before forwarding it on to Watari's colleagues. The system was actually devised by L, for L, when he was a child, with the small council of Wammy's older associates as a backup in case his logic ever failed.

Light living counted as a definite failure in his mind, and his training was something that bordered idiocy. He still hadn't forgiven himself entirely yet, and that coupled with Watari's general irritation made for a bad day.

Light's tea sloshed over the side of the cup and onto the saucer, but he barely glanced at it. He'd learned early on that it was better to ignore the old man entirely, lest his shirts be returned to him scorched by the iron. L managed to keep him mostly civil, but there was never any love to lose between the two gentlemen. His eyes flickered to the cup by his keyboard only momentarily, before exchanging a silent glance with L.

L exhaled slowly, glaring at his companion as his own cup was set before him silently, with the perfect grace of an English gentleman that had been serving Earl Grey for the majority of his years. It was a blatant gesture, and the stare between the black eyes and the old grey ones slowly turned darker as the already delicate mood in the room plummeted.

Light cleared his throat. "L, let's not do this today…We have work to do."

"Your opinion hardly matters, Kira."

L set his papers down, not leaving Watari's eyes. "Watari…do not address Light-kun in such a manner again."

"I beg your pardon, L, but how does one _address_ a dead man?" There was steel in his voice, and the anger in his eyes sent Sidoh drifting nervously away through the floor. Light felt his own frustration mounting, staring blankly at the document on his screen.

"Gentleman, we have things to do."

"Light-kun, stay out of this."

"Then take it somewhere else, damn it. I'm trying to work."

Just like that, the air became viably toxic between the three of them. Light refused to glance over at the other two, staring mutely at his screen as he waited for the fight to erupt. Watari stood stiffly before the table, but L refused to look at him now, something that Light had learned irritated the older man. It was a matter of respect, to look him in the eye when they were talking about something. For L to deny him that was just a petulant way to convince him to leave. Light didn't give a fuck, as long as it worked.

Silence still.

"We need to talk, L."

"Not today Watari…just not today…."

The elder scowled slightly, sighing through his nose. "No…never _today_, L. Always later."

Light could see L stiffen visibly at the implication that he was dodging the topic. He knew damn well that the old man was trying to convince L to renege on his word and turn Light in. It pissed him off to no end, because that word was the only thing keeping him alive at the moment. Granted, it would ruin L's reputation if the world found out that he harbored the greatest mass murderer on the planet, but a ruined reputation hardly seemed comparable to a death penalty. Light would _die_…and L would just continue working as one of his other aliases.

Sometimes, he thought it was worth killing the man in his sleep, Watari made him so paranoid.

"Watari, this insubordination is going to-"

"_Don't_, _start_, with me, Young Man." The violent hiss cut the detective off, and Light raised an eyebrow in quiet amusement. He doubted L had been addressed as 'Young Man' in quite a while.

L actually put his feet on the floor as Watari continued, stunned. "You lost the right to call me on insubordination the second you let that bastard walk out of his own murder investigation with a pulse. _Look_ at me when I talk to you, boy."

L refused, staring straight ahead. When he spoke, Light almost turned around to make sure that voice was coming from the detective, it sounded so uncharacteristically harsh. "Unless you have something to add to this investigation, _sir_…I suggest you go downstairs. Now."

Light could see the tremble start in Watari's spine, and the bright color in his nose and cheeks, but he held himself as elegantly as a man trained to uphold his honor, no matter the circumstances. There was another tense moment, and then Watari sent a glare in his direction. Light just continued lounging in his chair and staring at his screen with his chin in his hand, refusing to humor the man by glancing back.

A final look between the two of them, and he straightened his vest.

"Yes, there is something I'd like to add."

"Get on with it then."

"I can't see the third Note. At all."

XXXX

"How could you keep something of that magnitude from me?"

"I didn't think it important."

"You didn't…Watari, you know better. Did you think I was insane or something, referring to a third note when there didn't appear to be one?!"

"I refuse to give my opinion on the state of your mind."

L threw his hands up, stalking across the living room floor. "How long has this been going on?" 

"I've never seen it."

"Do you know why?"

"It's because he never saw Rem." Light stated from his perch above them, leaning on the railing and sipping his cold tea. "And Sidoh says it has something to do with the voice as well."

L glared up at him. "Why didn't _he_ mention this before?"

Light glanced over his shoulder, and L could hear a faint hissing that was the death god's voice. "He says it's because he has to be careful about what he tells you. Some things are out of his control, and others he can only hint at. He's pushing it, as it is."

L pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his temper. "And if we push…he dies, and we have nothing."

XXXX

"When did people stop mattering?"

The dejected voice from the terminal behind him drew Light from his work. It was uncharacteristically bitter, for L. Glancing over, Light found himself further amazed to see L lounging back in his chair as a normal person would, a small frown on his face.

"Well, that's unusual."

"No, actually, this is normal…I just don't see the point in maintaining the alias now that the game is over."

"Game?"

"The case…us…Kira…." L shrugged, still staring blankly at his screen.

Light stared for another moment, finding it hard to believe that L would go to that extreme…to completely shift his body language to fit a persona. Yet, here he was, sitting like any other person in his chair, nibbling idly on a knuckle as he pretended to read. It was…strange, to say the least. Light set his papers down and crossed his arms loosely, returning to the start of the conversation.

"What makes you think people don't matter anymore?"

L just shrugged again, glancing over at him and shifting from his knuckle to his thumb. That at least seemed to be a real habit. "It's just that people don't consider each other anymore. There is no camaraderie among the common men…we are all separated, distant."

"You didn't strike me as the friendly type."

"I'm not, and that is not what I'm referring to. It's just become apparent to me that People are anonymous, and therefore don't matter."

"Like with me?"

L glanced at him again and nodded. "There are roughly three thousand names in these notebooks…names in your handwriting, and another thousand or so in Misa's. I can't help but wonder if you ever considered exactly what you were doing."

Light frowned this time, glancing at the table. "It bothered me at first, but it was necessary."

L pointed a finger at him without looking away from his screen. "We are not starting that fight tonight Light-kun."

"You asked me if they mattered…if I thought less of them because they were anonymous to me. That's not it. I realize that each of those people existed, had an entire life and-"

"Do you?", L turned to gaze at him now, and Light almost wished the detective would curl back up into his defensive little ball. This side of L, or the person posing as L, was a complete stranger to him. "Do you really? I mean that they had families at some point…a few likely still did, outside of prison. They had a favorite T.V show, a favorite food…they like some colors, they liked certain alcohols…It was a person. Each of them." 

Light remained silent.

"And I was just wondering…why people don't matter to you. When did the entire world stop thinking of 'People' as other human beings, and instead as a massive opposition to their ideals? Furthermore…" The detective gestured at his screen in disgust. "I'd like to know what happened to ideals…to morals in general. When did Ideals become a threat?"

"When people realized they were powerful."

L glanced at him again, falling quiet.

"People fear each other because they…we…realize that the only keeping us together is each other. There are people we can't trust and it taints the masses."

"…Did you seek to unite the world then, Light-kun? Was it some hope of re-establishing what we've lost?"

"I'd hoped to back-hand them with justice until they regained common sense."

"Common sense has long been dead, Light…." The quiet depressed note came back into his voice. "Not even Kira could scare us enough to make us trust each other…instead, we turned on one another, offering sacrifices."

"It was merely denial…after a while, things would have come together."

"You're the most optimistic murderer I've ever encountered."

"It's the one childish trait that I cling to shamelessly…I merely got tired of waiting for it to happen and chose to act instead. The Deathnote was my opportunity."

"I suppose what I'm really asking is when did Justice become not enough?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that before you…I was a Kira-figure. I rid the world of evil, I put away thousands of criminals, ended dozens of conflicts through tactful negotiations…but Kira…." The word rolled from his tongue like poison. "It was _Kira_ that earned the people's praise…their fear and respect. Never mind that I've been preventing crime for the majority of my life…Kira, a criminal, earned the respect of the ones that I've protected."

Light again, remained silent.

"It was you…you scared them badly enough that they believed." L ran a hand through his spikes, staring at the empty spot on his desk as he thought. "I just don't understand why it takes something that extreme to affect the masses these days…why murder in itself is more appreciated than the Justice that prevents it."

"We are a corrupt world…insensitive and cold."

"I know. It makes me wonder why I do this sometimes..."

Light regarded him carefully, not liking this new side of L at all. Where was the enigmatic, annoying, and brilliant mind that challenged him with every breath? "You do this because…I don't think you _could_ do anything else…anything less."

"Anything Less…no, I suppose not. You've changed."

Light raised an eyebrow slightly.

"It is nothing serious…perhaps you have just begun to relax around me, or perhaps appreciate my work more."

"That's true…it's never as simple as it looks, but I've enjoyed the challenge. Just curious, but what brought all this on?"

L gestured blankly at his screen, eyes closed to fend off a headache. "We have our first Kira kill…American, due here in roughly two weeks. He's a massive weapons and drugs dealer…We're authorized for his execution by the homeland."

"Using the notebooks?"

Again, the disgust in his tone was almost tangible as he raked a hand down his face. "Yes… I can't quite believe I agreed to this. It's like sending sheep to slaughter…."

"It's necessary."

"No…No it's not. Murder is never _Necessary_, Kira." It was the first time L had addressed him as Kira since they escaped Japan. It made Light pause, but L continued, ignoring his reaction to glare harshly at nothing. "You really could kill again, couldn't you? It's become as natural as breathing to you."

"…I suppose so."

"You 'suppose'." L met his eyes again, his tone sarcastic and cold. "Like it's nothing…people are nothing to you. They just don't matter. I cannot comprehend that."

Light returned to his work.

A moment later, from the corner of his eye, he watched L slowly draw his legs back up and wrap his arms around them.


	15. Common Men

"I've told you before, I killed them because I needed-"

"There can be no perfect world, Light-kun."

"There _can_. And there _would_ have been, if you'd left me the hell alone." Light retorted over his shoulder, not at all in the mood for a fight this morning. The prisoner was due here in two days, but L's demeanor was steadily falling apart as the day approached. He'd become tense, snapping at both Light and Watari without mercy. He'd taken to pacing the floor whenever he couldn't lose himself in a case, and his temper had Sidoh hiding in the basement for the majority of the day. The beast had taken to sleeping in the loft with the cookies, or in Light's room. It was fine with him as long as he was silent…L couldn't fathom having him around while he slept.

And now, again, they fought about things. They fought about cookies, they argued over papers and files and cases, and any other minute object that captured their attention for more than ten minutes. Watari had taken to ignoring them both. The fights were brief, vehement, and for the most part, quiet. L had yet to raise his voice to the murderer at his back, though he was finding it hard to keep his back turned to him for long periods of time. He supposed that they were doing fairly well…the fights had yet to turn physical.

Still the petty arguing did nothing to ease his mood, nothing at all. There was a criminal due to arrive at the training facility three hours away in two days. L was to have him killed, in the manner of his choosing, and while that was usually a nice, quiet lethal injection, this time there was something else he'd come up with. It curdled his blood every time he reconsidered the option, but the choice was made a long time ago. L was a man of his word, but he was also impulsive about giving it. There was a reason the words "I promise" never crossed his lips, ever, under any circumstances.

Now, he sat here, day after day and counted down to his own first murder. How could it be anything less? Kira was a murderer, not an executioner, and to allow himself to start thinking other wise was to allow Light to win. It would be accepted Kira and everything he stood for, but damn it all, wasn't he doing that anyway? By allowing him to continue killing, by letting him sit here and partake of his proverbial bread and wine?

He was going insane, he had to be. The knowledge of what he was about to allow completely violated every standard he'd ever set for himself. Then again, Light had always been the exception…he was an anomaly, a fatal flaw in L's character. They knew each other well, and his "Pet" as Watari was fond of insulting him with, was right. Even now, he couldn't do anything less. The people of the world depended on him, but he had his own goals, his own plans to consider. He was trying to fulfill the role in a manner that satisfied both.

Something told him he was failing.

He wasn't sure if it was his inability to concentrate, or the sheer distance that had sprung up between him and his childhood companion. He wasn't sure if the sight of Light trembling in a controlled rage just satisfied him more than it had in the past. He wasn't sure what, if anything, he was getting from these fights, but he could not remain quiet. He opened himself up for insults and pain from both of his companions because he had no way of inflicting it on himself. He doubted Light had picked up on his game yet, but Watari knew…that's why he'd started ignoring the detective completely, refusing to grant his wish.

Light was fair game however, and their words were brutal, aimed to cut each other to marrow and then hollow them out. It left them numb and incapable of work, but it would only last so long. L himself would be driven to a fight if he didn't find an adequate release of this tension and disgust. Light would likely smack him just so he could go back to work when it was all said and done.

"No, there can't. It would have fallen apart the second you died."

"Not If I put things in place that-"

"You couldn't." He was interrupting just to further the fight along, Light knew…and maybe he was easy, but it was fucking working. He took a deep breath before trying again.

"If I'd started some kind of church-like base, I could have passed the ideals on without problem."

"Oh yes, because that worked so well for the Christians. I can't begin to count the 'Denominations'…every fool who doesn't like something can start his own church, Light-kun."

"Not every fool has a supernatural ability to kill people."

L chuckled wryly. "Yes, yes, that little black book that solved all your problems."

"They weren't my problems…they were a menace to the world."

"The world should have had the right to decide for itself."

"If it were doing it well, there wouldn't have been half the names available that there were." Light pointed out, saving his work and moving to the hardcopies spread over his half of the desk. "I was righteous."

"That doesn't make you right."

"It put me damn sight farther than the average man." Light paused. "…Farther than you even."

"Don't think to compare us on any professional scale. You fall far short of the bar."

"Why? Just because I found a loophole in the reality of our world that allowed me to outpace you? You've said it yourself…we did the same work, I just got the recognition you wanted."

"Wanted?"

"…Deserved, I'll grant you that. All I'm saying is that you're pissed because I did your job better than you did."

That struck deep, and L felt himself going tense. "You're nothing but a murderer."

"And I suppose that because you have 'Detective' slapped onto your name it's okay for you to kill?"

Light seemed to realize that he'd found a grip and he was digging. L tried to remain quiet. "It's not a matter of-"

"So because you have a title and a general consensus, you're excused?" Light interrupted smoothly. L twitched in irritation. "I mean really, L…what are you doing? What do you call it? Because you have 'authorization' to murder international criminals, you're better than I am?"

L stood up at that, his chair rolling away, and braced himself on his desk to keep from throwing something, anything vaguely heavy, in the teen's direction. Light grinned and returned to his computer. After a moment of clicking, a window opened on L's screen as he received a file from Light's profile. It was a headline.

"World Mourns Loss of Kira: A Mortal Goddess." He read aloud.

L stared at the headline and picture of Misa with unadulterated loathing. Light continued, another file replacing the newspaper. "And this one… 'Kira: Righteous Fury in a World Long Denied'."

"Misguided fools." His voice was hardly more than a violent whisper, but he was coming close to losing his temper for the first time in years.

"No L…you're looking at a general consensus. The people of the world accepted me, 'authorized' me, if you will."

"It means nothing."

"Because you existed first? How can you really look me in the eye and tell me that you're better than Kira?" Light stood and turned to stare at the detective's back, quiet in his victory. "Think about it. Kira is a title. The world was turning to my favor, and I was leaving you in the dirt. I was creating a perfect world."

"You're no better than the criminals you've slaughtered…nothing more than a misguided idealist."

Light's fragile temper snapped at that and as always, he was the first to lose his control. "I was GOD, L."

Silence rang for a few seconds, and Light carried on, dragging this fight in a direction neither of them had anticipated. He paced, gesturing harshly. "I was creating a place where crime didn't exist. All you've ever done is prevent it…I was erasing it completely. It must gall you to know that I was much more than you could ever dream of being. The world needed me…they needed someone who wasn't bound by ANY law, much less the 'General Consensus"…the weakness of men."

"You feed off their praise like a leech, accepted the title because you wanted the glory of it. A name, someone they could blame and balance their fear with."

"Are you any different? I was so close, L. I was making a difference, and you had to go fuck everything up, turn it into a game."

"Human lives are not chess pieces."

"You can't stand the thought of it…someone being better than you, not just your equal."

"We are nothing alike."

"The hell we aren't…I was righteous, L, I made them think. I made them realize their faults."

"All you managed to do was inspire controlled fear."

"Isn't that all any God has _ever_ done? Think about it."

L felt a very human rage burning at this point, something he was both unaccustomed to and glad for. "You still think yourself a God among men?"

"If the shoe fits. I was everything you ever dreamed of being, and I accomplished it in half the time, with twice the success. You've got your own title L. So I had a gimmick to help me…does that really make a difference in the larger scale of things? People knew Kira before L because it was KIRA they respected. Not L…not a faceless, computerized voice. It took you weeks to put together cases on the world's most deadly men and women, L…."

L was coming very close to something…he wasn't sure if it was a mental train wreck or complete despair.

"It took me forty seconds."

Silence again for another minute, and L stood up straight. Light tensed, taking this as a sign that he'd gotten past some barrier or other, and was dealing with the real L now. It presented a new challenge to him. He soldiered on, working tirelessly at the armor with his own anger to fire his words. "Forty _seconds_, L. I was making the world a better place for the common man…"

L lost it. "Your _FATHER_ was the common man, Light Yagami."

Light faltered, drawing himself up, but this was far from over. L continued, his voice sharp, cold and loud, and when he turned around, there was more…just _more_, in his eyes. Something, real emotion, fire, hatred…justice….

Light was stunned.

"Your own _FATHER_, flesh and blood, and you strung him up like a corpse on strings...traded his soul for your own." L looked him over, eyes narrowed in disgust. "Who do you think you are? A God? You're nothing but an immature child playing with a gun. You did _nothing_ for the common man, nothing but terrorize him into submission like an abusive boyfriend. Your Father was the _common man_, Light. Matsuda, Demegawa, Higuchi…They were the _common man_."

He gestured at his screen. "You want to throw this in my face? Why don't you check crime listings on a global scale? You were just coming into power, and they're already half again what they were before you got your hands on a Death God's toy. Can you imagine what they would have been like years from now? When Kira held full sway?

"I…." 

"You'd have _LOST_, Light. You dare compare yourself to me, to speak in the interest of the common man. You killed your father, a _common man_, the second he became useful."

Light flinched as though struck. L didn't let up, ripping inch for inch as deeply and Light had. "You're disgusting. You dare call yourself righteous, and good, when you're perfectly willing to murder the common man you swear you're trying to protect_. Forty Seconds, Light._"

Silence, and L wasn't letting him go, no not yet.

"Forty seconds." L strode forward and flipped Rem's note open, revealing Soichiro's name. "Right there…You lost the right to call yourself justice when you let filth like Higuchi have the Note…to kill for profit. And this…this name on this page, the black and white of it, Light…is that you lost your humanity in forty seconds."

Light' s expression hardened.

"Forty Seconds. You are nothing…but a murderer. I should have killed you."

Light met his eyes, and there was tense moment in the wake of those words. L never wavered.

"In the Name of Justice, and the Common Man, I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"You didn't."

"No…not yet. We're not done playing this game, though, are we Light?"

"No…I guess not."

"Not as long as you think you're Justice."

"Not as long as you think you're above me."

"Humanity already places me one step above you, Light. You're nothing more than an animal."


	16. Reflecting

AN- Best two chapters so far, in my opinion. I'm having fun with this...it should update again later today because this chapter ran so long. I split it in half. I'm glad that the portrayal of L/Ryuzaki vs. L/Lawliet has gone over so well...this chapter may have been problematic otherwise. Glad to hear from you all, my internet is still down, so I'm updating everything at once. Hope you like it. -Kani

L was working late, the fire of his rage denying him any hope of sleep tonight. He rarely became angry…it was so rare in fact that even his irritations with Light were worthy of note in the long run of things. For him to completely snap as he had, enough that he'd actually dropped a persona in favor of making his point…it cost him. He sat here, idly throwing his evidence together for the Spaniards, and wondered at just how much the Kira case had really changed him. Once upon a time he was man solid in his beliefs, unwavering in his pursuit of justice. He never faltered when it came time to make his stand.

How Light had taken even that from him, he'd never know.

Maybe it was the fact that Light was alive, and still willing to play their insipid little game. Maybe it was the fact that Light himself knew that L had made a mistake. It didn't really matter. The Game was far from over, and wouldn't, no couldn't, end until one of them lay in an unmarked grave.

The sound of Watari's footsteps only put him further into his depression. He'd had a rough time already, and he really didn't need the added sarcasm. He'd gotten his dose of pain for the day.

L was in a mood.

"L?"

"Yes?"

"…I brought you dinner." The fact that the expected snide remark never came just incensed the detective further.

"Now, you want to help…after nearly two months of ignoring me, you decide to be friendly?"

"L…you made a mistake today."

"I'm very much aware of that, Quillsh." On impulse, L clicked the surveillance and brought up Light's room, revealing his partner to be lounging in bed, watching something on his laptop. A quick system scan showed it was the Japanese news…the thought of Light being homesick gave the detective a sadistic dose of pleasure.

The use of his real name made the older man sigh. "Look…You know that I worry."

"It's a little late to worry now, don't you think?"

"Lawliet, that's enough."

L sighed, rubbing his eyes in a tired action that belied his nearly thirty years. Thirty years of flawless work, the man without mistakes…until the other one appeared. He really had to wonder which of them would have lived, who would have won if they'd allowed things to play out. "I'm sorry. This isn't easy for me, either. I've made quite a mess of things, and I'm not sure how to fix them."

"You let him see Lawliet today, you know that don't you?"

L nodded and rested his chin on his knees. "I was angry."

"He shouldn't be able to affect you like that."

"I know. I'm not sure when this became so personal…"

"It was about the time he started comparing himself to you, and he wasn't far from wrong. There's a fine line between justice and murder, Lawliet…you're one of the blessed few that can see it so clearly."

"I'm doing the best I can. What kind of world is this…when murderers are heroes, and the gods deem it necessary to interfere?"

"It's not a matter of the world being what it is…it's a matter of the world you want it to be."

L smiled at his screen, despite himself. "You've been telling me that since I was five."

"And I was right then too." Quillsh leaned on his desk to look him in the eye. Lawliet dropped his feet and rested his head on his fist, glad for real company again. Company that didn't require anything of him…it was a rarity.

Quillsh frowned at him. "You look tired."

"I am." Lawliet gestured at his screen. "This boy…he's amazing. I really think I've found my match."

"No, you are still above him."

"Sometimes, I'm not so sure."

"Lawliet…are you really going to let him kill again?"

The detective glanced up, and there was a definite fall in his mood. He nodded, staring at the figure on camera with disgust and loathing in his eyes. Quillsh looked at the empty station across from him, quiet for a few minutes.

"It doesn't have to be this way."

"I need to know more about the Death Notes. I'm trying to come to terms with it, but there's not much else that I can do." Lawliet replied tonelessly, desperately trying to believe his own words.

Quillsh just shook his head. "Is it really so important? Can't we just burn them, and pretend they never existed?"

"At this point…after today…I'd love to. I'd schedule him alongside Starling and let the world go on. There'd be no closure in that though."

"Lawliet, this case is already going to haunt you. Why do you insist on making it worse?"

"Because there will never be another like it, Quillsh. It's going to be a beautiful scar."

"You really think he's worth everything you've lost?"

"Kira? No…but Light Yagami was worth it."

XXXX

"What are you watching?"

Light glanced up at the shinigami poking his head through his closet door. He was still fuming from earlier, throwing his mind into overdrive as he tried to find a way to get his plan going before things got worse. His situation was seriously compromised today. It was one thing to have the old man trying to kill him, but with L himself admitting that he wanted to…he was in a hard place. If he hadn't kept pushing today, he might have let it go as a minor fight, just another spat between two frustrated partners. Instead, he'd pushed until something snapped.

He'd gotten past the persona today…the first time had been willingly, L allowing him to see that he was still enforcing measures against Kira. It had likely been an honest attempt to bring himself closer to his partner and only friend…an excuse that a few months ago, Light would have pounced on like a cat on a lame mouse. He'd have used it to draw him further out, make him vulnerable.

Instead, in a blind moment of surprise, he'd decided to rather calmly remind the detective of who he was dealing with. It cost him dearly. Today, in the heat of the moment, he'd decided to literally rip the persona away from the detective and see the man laid bare…he'd wanted to reduce him to nothing more than the man, the soul and mind beneath that practiced exterior, and he'd gotten more than he'd bargained for.

In ripping him open, Light had reminded himself of whom _he_ was dealing with.

L, the greatest detective in the world…a man with a passion that rivaled Light's own, a man who actually knew the difference between right and wrong. He made Kira look like the child that he really was. In ripping him open, the entire fight had backfired, because not only had he defined his enemy to himself…he'd reminded L of who he was. He could see it in his eyes, when the fire returned, and a few months ago, he'd have been proud that the Kira case had taken so much out of him. Now, though still furious, he also felt cheated. The man beneath the L persona…that was the real L. That was his enemy, his rival, and Light had just been fighting a shell the entire time.

He knew better now. L had regained himself today, and Light had the singular pleasure of witnessing the him lose himself in his ideals again. This game had taken a new turn, and while it was immensely gratifying to know that Light could drive him to lose control like that, it'd cost him more than he'd realized.

Now, he was treading water, trying to find a way out of this new problem. L was seriously considering turning him in. In fact, he may not even wait that long and execute Light himself. He had the facility and all the proof he'd ever need, should he be questioned on the act later. Light had given it to him on a silver platter after he'd accepted the offer, and he was kicking himself for it now. Up until a few hours ago, the only thing keeping him alive had been L's word, and now even that was successfully compromised.

Just because Light couldn't let the fight go…son of a bitch.

"Light?"

The shinigami drew him from his thoughts again, and Light almost snapped at him. Only through a strong measure of self-control and biting his tongue did the shinigami remain in place, curious. He gestured at his screen.

"News from my home land." The shinigami drifted over through his bed to peer at the screen. Kiyomi Takada was speaking on the loss of Kira tonight. He found it rather ironic that the one relationship he'd considered becoming serious in was the one that would have benefited him most. She was influential… a born orater. When she spoke, her voice was kind, her words soft, and people listened. They were drawn to her infectious laugh and sharp wit.

"She is quite attractive by your species' standards."

"Yes…mine too."

"You think her beautiful?"

"…In some ways, yes." Light considered the question. "We're a lot alike."

"You once said that of him, too." Light cast a sidelong glance at the shinigami. Sidoh explained himself. "When I first came here…you said you were friends because if you tried to coexist otherwise, you'd end up killing each other. I asked you why, and you told me that people as alike as you two were not meant to meet in the normal world."

"It's true for the most part."

"I must ask you, then, are you attracted to people who infuriate you on a regular basis?"

Light found himself chuckling despite himself. He nodded slowly, shifting the laptop so they both could see it. "I guess so. It just surprises me that he can get so far under my skin."

"That seems to be a mutual agreement." Sidoh clicked his beak as he watched the woman on screen. He asked quietly, "He was quite angry today, wasn't he?"

"We both were."

"He frightens me when he's angry."

The thought of L frightening a God of Death was amusing, but Light refrained from commenting. "Why is that?"

"He sees much. There is…truth in his eyes. I cannot explain it better."

"I understand. Furthermore, I agree." Light nodded to himself. Takada disappeared from the screen as the news covered the top story of the night.

"That's why I like you. You're much kinder than he is. You knew her?"

"Yes…a long time ago. We dated in school."

"Do you miss her?"

Light froze. The idea struck him so hard it left him staring at the screen blankly while pieces fell into place. Takada was obviously a Kira supporter. She and Light had ended on good terms…and while he was dead to world…she could….

And what better proof than a shinigami?

Light was almost breathless.

"…Yes…Sometimes I do miss her."


	17. Mocking Bird

AN- I love this chapter. Not sure why. -Kani

Light slid into the chair, staring at the familiar steel table before him blankly. The training facility was bare, and clinical. This is where Light had been brought for his aptitude tests and the menial training and reports. The building was hardly furnished, and equipped with the highest security systems available. Light found himself wondering what it was designed to protect, but a glance to his right told him. It was the detective himself that required so much attention. Watari disappeared to another section, likely to make his own reports and such. L told him that this was the place were all of his meetings occurred. It was the common ground for some of the greatest nations in the world. Peace talks and international cases had taken place over this very table. Queens, emperors, presidents; they were all equal here…men and women of the world talking to men and women of the same world. The thought was daunting, until he realized that almost every world leader that had taken a seat here in this room had submitted to the will of Kira at some point or other. That kind of robbed the glory from the entire place, though it did wonders for his ego.

The chains on the cuffs rattled slightly, and while the feeling of one was familiar enough, the short length connecting it to his other wrist was not. It was frustrating, to be in real handcuffs. However, L deemed it necessary. They were playing a dangerous charade with L's superiors, one they could not afford to slip up with.

According to the detective, he'd told them that Light was a part of the Kira case but his actual involvement was minor. He'd proved extremely intelligent…intelligent enough that L was willing to undertake the task of training him for the position. They allowed it on the terms that he was closely guarded.

Light doubted that living together in a lovely little cottage off an English river counted as the type of confinement they'd had in mind. The cuffs were mainly for show, but this served another purpose as well. The executions were being recorded, for scientific reasons. That meant that if Light played his part right, he would walk away with something quite incriminating.

Surveillance footage of L forcing him to use the note.

Light was considered dead to the world, and the fact that he himself was in charge of the surveillance and audio being taken, the tape could prove beneficial. If he planned to pin the case on L, he needed proof of his own innocence. The image of him handcuffed to a table, forced to write names down with L standing over his shoulder….

He forced his expression to remain blank, but inside, a chesire grin painted his features.

For now, he just stared at the file before him. The profile provided him was quite thick. Giuseppe Starling was a mass murderer, and leader of an international smuggling ring. His picture revealed an almost grandfatherly face with two sky blue holes where eyes should have been. There was no mercy to be had in those eyes…nothing that even remotely signified a human had existed there in the first place. His wrinkles were harsh, sun beaten and wind worn, and his hair was graying steadily from the temples back.

It was an expression Light was familiar with…one he often wore himself. One he wore now just to piss the detective at his side off, because he knew it was affecting him. He met and held L's eyes for as long as possible, as often as he could, because he knew now that L was wary of Kira. If he weren't, then Light would have been dealing with…whoever that was, that he'd seen two days ago, and before that. That was the man Light wanted to face…now that he'd seen him, challenged him, Ryuzaki…L…looked weak. His every move was defensive, curling small to protect himself, holding things lightly so as to leave the barest trace of himself behind. Hiding…hiding from Light, from Kira and all his power.

He wanted the real man back, damn it.

The file was flipped open, and Light glanced at the camera and tried to look apprehensive. The cuffs ran through a solid ring on the tabletop, something often used for prisoner interrogation. The ring locked into place with a key, one that currently hung around the wrist of the detective at his side. Directly across the room was a containment cell much like the one Misa had lived her last few days in. Light could see into the dark space through a large window.

L glanced between the window and Light, idly turning pages in the file. "He'll be here shortly."

"Why are we so early?"

"There are preparations that need to be done before he's considered ready for execution."

"Final meal and such?"

"Yes…and a shower, time with a preacher, time with a lawyer, a final medical exam…."

"I can't see this guy asking for a preacher."

"Devout Catholic, actually…There are no doubt quite a few priests wondering if they should break their holy vow to turn him in."

"You'd think a Catholic would think twice."

"Sometimes, knowing your fate is the deciding factor."

"Ironic really…that a lawyer and preacher are the last two people you'll ever-"

"Must you talk?" L snapped, belying his tension with his tone. Light fell silent, fighting to keep an amused smirk from his face. It wouldn't look good for him to goad the detective on when he was supposed to be the victim in the situation.

"I'm sorry." L stiffened slightly, and somehow Light managed to stay straight-laced. L knew from his tone that he was lying. Light never apologized and meant it. Ever.

He took to drawing circles on the table with a fingertip, staring at the Note in the middle of the table. Right now it was out of his reach, with the chain. It'd be in his hands soon enough however, and it would take a great amount of self control not to snatch it and rush the entire thing. He studied the picture some more, memorizing the features of what would be his first kill in almost six months. Sidoh hovered in the corner behind them, watching the proceedings curiously.

The Shinigami rarely spoke to L, though he still pillaged the detective's cookies every chance he got. Light was kind to the creature, however, and though L was suspicious, it kept him from whining overmuch when they were trying to work. Now, he was waiting quietly as instructed, because the two of them could not acknowledge the death god while in the building. It would look strange on the cameras, and L had no desire to explain to the board that he was being haunted by a creature born to kill his race.

Light's fingers itched for a pen. It'd been too long, much too long, since he last had the honor of killing the filth himself. L's isolation had served its purpose, and kept Light himself from killing. It was a shame…damn shame, really. It would be good to have a pen in his hands again, even if only briefly.

An hour passed. Light sat there and sawed the chain through the ring, just to further annoy L. The detective just hid his mouth behind his knees and said nothing. The door finally opened and a very familiar looking stretcher was wheeled in. The old man muttered stoically against his gag, and Watari sighed to himself as he turned on the lights and then the microphones. The voice filtered strangely through the cloth and then the speakers, putting him in mind of his last time watching Misa. There would be no final meal here. There would be no kindness, no final requests. The time for that had come and again.

Light was excited, and refused to look at the note, staring intently at the man before him. This murderer had killed over thirty people in cold blood, and ruined hundreds, maybe thousands of lives with his drugs. The world would be better off without him…better than it had ever been. The only reason scum like this existed was provide jobs for the local policemen and give the rookies a chance to die honorably. Bastard.

The sawing of the chain stopped, its quiet grating ring dying away in the silence of the room. Light cast a sarcastic glance at L, who was watching him carefully and tapping his pen against the stack of papers before him. The detective wore no expression, but Light knew that to be a lie. He knew that whoever lay beneath his L was absolutely disgusted with both Light and himself. He knew that this likely betrayed the detective impeccable standards. He knew that L would never forgive himself…knew that beneath those charcoal eyes, he was writhing in anger, drowning himself in justice because this was wrong. This was so very _wrong_.

Frankly, it made Light's day.

"Are you counting the time?"

L just nodded, pulling his eyes away from Kira to look at the man behind the glass. Watari met his eyes, and a small shake of his head told him that there was nothing he could do to make this situation better. Watari could not forgive him for this. It hurt.

Light was growing impatient. He said nothing, betrayed nothing in his expression. He instead fascinated himself with the cuffs and chain, studying their make and model…recounting in his head all the ways they could be broken and wrenched open. The skitter of a key on the steel table top made him glance up, but it was just dragging along the metal as L closed the file. The profile picture lay upon the silver steel between them, those cold blue eyes sucking the warmth from the room with frightening efficiency. Light needed the photo because the blindfold covered too much of the man's face, dipping down across his cheekbones.

They were quiet for another long moment. L glanced at the clock mounted on the wall behind Light. Light watched the detective openly, trying to find another little crack to assert himself with.

"It is seven and fifty eight minutes. He will die at eight."

"As you wish."

L cut his eyes at him but glossed over the remark. They held eyes for another long minute before Light spoke again.

"Does he know Kira is going to kill him?"

"No."

"Shame."

"Sadist."

"Am I going to use your pen?"

L felt his temper spike and chose to look at the prisoner instead now. That put Watari into his field of vision, and the older man's expression hurt. It just hurt. His voice was lower than he intended for it to be.

"Can you really do it again?"

Light glanced at the camera apprehensively, knowing that L's superiors would be reviewing the tape soon. "Yes."

L met his eyes, and Light held them, repeating himself. "Yes, I can."

"I should have killed you."

"Why didn't you?"

"It's time." The detective dodged, and the clock was in his favor.

Light forgot the question entirely as L slid the notebook into his reach. Though he worked with the Notes everyday, got to see and touch them, he doubted they'd felt this good in his hands in a long while. This was Gelus' Note, Misa's original. As he turned the pages, her flowing script filled page after page, until he finally reached the back. There was a faint hiss of envy from Sidoh, but neither acknowledged him. The blank pages lay open, and L rolled the pen to him across the table.

Light shivered, despite himself.

He glanced between the window and the notebook once. There was no hesitation. Pen met paper, and ink flowed.

G-I-U-S-E-P-P-E

L's eyes went forward, stuck between the unyielding silvers of Watari's and the mocking caramels of Light's. It was a hard place to be. He chose instead to focus on the wall between the two pains, trying vaguely to pretend that they didn't exist. Surely he was childish enough to accomplish that much?

S-T-A-R-L-I-N-G

Forty seconds…forty agonizing seconds to wait. L didn't look when he finished, so Light tossed the pen to clatter across the table. It earned him a glance, but nothing more. No fire and brimstone or righteous glory. Just the vacant stare of L, the persona. L was soul-sick, and it almost brought a smirk to Light's face. He wanted to laugh out loud, and he really wanted to surprise the detective by scribbling Watari's name first. In his minds eye, he could imagine the expression on L's face as his only companion fell twitching to the floor instead of the seasoned criminal. It wasn't to be, however, because Sidoh was just now starting to warm up to him….

But it was just a matter of time…a matter of pretty promises and time.

The first strangled grunt came over the speakers and L's eyes shifted against his will to Light's. As far as he knew, Light had never been in the vicinity of his victims when they died. He was curious to see if the boy would waver when presented with the cold reality of his own murders.

He didn't.

The face never turned from his, and though in the back of his thoughts, he was remembering the sound of rending metal and flesh hitting the pavement, Light held his eyes. The sounds continued, not quite cries of pain, but the sound of a heart stopping, nonetheless. Light held the charcoal gaze almost fondly, mocking the detective and everything he stood for.

After all, how could justice allow _this_?

And so _easily_?

The sound of the clock behind him grew louder. It took Starling three and an half minutes to slump in his binds and cease to breathe. Watari watched in abject horror as the act took place, glancing between the accursed black notebook and the dying man at his side. It was the fear of God in his eyes, and that was Light's triumph. It took three and a half minutes for Light to redefine himself in L's eyes forever.

Light was Kira. And Kira…Kira was god.

And even now, chained to a table, Kira was powerful.


	18. Kira Lives

"He thinks you are wrong."

Light nodded, lounging on his bed as he watched the news and talked to Sidoh. "Yes."

"You wish to save your world."

"Yes."

"Are you wrong?"

Light looked up, staring into small black eyes without expression. "Why do you ask me that Sidoh?"

"Because…" The beast ruffled his wings, clicking his teeth in confusion. "Because I do not know."

"Why not?"

"I do not know right and wrong. The shinigami do not live by your laws, but I have seen here, evidence of the passion that they can inspire. Right and wrong…they give you reason to live. They are in his eyes…I believe that is what frightens me."

Light was silent for a long moment. Sidoh continued quietly, glancing up at the ceiling where, through the floor, L was likely still up. "He does not sleep at night much…he works. Right and wrong are powerful in this world, and I suppose…that makes him powerful. He sees much."

"Yes, he does."

"And he believes that you are wrong." 

"Yes…he does."

"But you are kind…and he is cold. As cold as any shinigami. You say that the two of you are much alike…but I cannot agree."

"Do you think I'm wrong?"

"I don't know. However, I don't think it matters. Neither of you are happy."

"We can't be happy…not like this, not while one of us is right, and the other wrong."

"He thinks himself above you. He puts in you metal chains and leads your life. He took you from everything you knew."

"Yes."

"How can he be right when betrays his own morals, and also the basic rights that you have established for human life? Rights that the entire human race acknowledges as needed?"

"I don't know."

"…Neither do I. But I thank you for your kindness, even if I do not understand your laws of right and wrong."

"Sidoh…" Light shifted, moving the laptop to a more comfortable position. "About Rem's note."

"Yes?"

"Because humans cannot use the lifespan that is collected by the Death Note, I assume that it retains the power anyway?"

"Yes. And Rem's notebook lost its power when she died. It was dispersed to the humans affected by her decision…namely Misa Amane, you, him, the old man, and a minute portion to dozens of others."

"So…if I were to use that note, it would slowly amass power from the lives it takes?"

"Theoretically, yes."

"Sidoh…do you think I am wrong?"

The death god regarded him quietly for another minute or so, his eyes gleaming like obsidian stone in the faint light. He clicked his beak quietly before answering. "You wish to ask something of me?"

Light only nodded. The claws raked lazily down the beetle shell of the beast's abdomen, considering him. "I will help you…because you are kind. What is it?"

"I wish for you to take her a message."

"Takada…the woman. You miss her?"

"Yes. And you will find that she is also kind, and righteous. She wishes to help me change the world, to protect people. However…with him watching…"

"I understand." Sidoh's spidery claws came away from his chest, and he began preening his leathery feathers. "You know…he said that you are not right to call it protection."

"You heard that fight?"

"Yes."

"I must ask you then…why the next day he took me to murder someone."

"He was the same type of criminal you killed under the title of Kira."

"I make no excuses for my work. I am a murderer. He thinks himself above me because he is more powerful."

"I see."

"Sidoh…take pages from Rem's Note."

The beast turned to stare at him, and Light offered a fond smile. "She will kill as I did, to protect the world…and the Note will regain power. Then, when L gives it to you, you will not have to worry immediately about replenishing your lifespan."

"I had not thought of that."

"It will work. Tell her…that Kira lives, oppressed, and that she must take up the mantle for a while. She will not ask for further proof if you give them to her personally. Take her enough to last a few months. Return here quickly, so he won't notice."

"I shall wait until he next exhausts himself. I believe I am a bit too clumsy to attempt it while he is awake." Sidoh rolled his wings joints, shifting the air in the room and tainting it with the sickly-sweet smell of rotting meat. Light returned his eyes to the laptop, satisfied.

"Light Yagami."

"Yes Sidoh?"

"I think, perhaps…that if I were human, I would think you were wrong."

"I suppose it's my good fortune that you have no conscience."

Sidoh's laugh was the sound of rotted wood snapping underfoot. _Tak tak tak tak…chck…_

"Yes…though after living with you two for the better part of a year, I think I appreciate it more. It seems to be a terrible burden."

XXXX

"What are you doing, Light?"

L's voice in his empty ear drew his attention from the news report in his other. He glanced over but he didn't acknowledge the detective just yet, watching him. He wouldn't want to ruin the surprise before its time.

L continued to watch him with a closed expression, his brow slightly furrowed in what could have been worry, perhaps irritation, but empty…emotions carefully tucked away from sight. Light restrained his smirk…it was going to make cracking that fortress of self-control all the more beautiful. Nothing else was said for a long moment, and Light's eyes returned to the screen before him, unwavering.

In his left ear, there was the world's greatest detective, confused.

"Light?"

In his right…was the dawn of his victory, his wildcard piece thrown into place at the last second. It wouldn't take long…L's fall from grace would be painful, humiliating, and if Light had anything to do it with, it would last until Kira was again a god.

Not a man chained to a table.

"What is it, L?"

This threw the detective for a brief moment, his eyes narrowing as Light dodged the first question in almost a year. He considered him quietly before asking again.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm just watching the news…I usually do it in my room, but we're working rather late tonight."

"That's not what I meant." Light merely tilted his head towards the detective at that, refusing to allow the detective to be important enough to garner his full attention. It served its purpose. L was irritated. "I've lived with you for closer to two years now, Light. I like to think that I can read you fairly well."

"And is something in my expression troubling?"

"It is a look I have not seen since Kira fell."

"L…", Light plucked the ear bud from his ear and turned to the detective again, an easy smile on his face, "I think you should turn the news on as well. There's…something of interest you might want to see."

There was another moment of silence, and he replaced his headphone, watching the beautiful woman on camera scroll through a list of recently deceased criminals.

At the bottom of the screen was a single banner, with two words on it.

Kira Lives.

The glow of the detective's monitor coming to life behind him cast a shadow on Light's wall. He marveled at his own silhouette, and waited for the explosion.

Suddenly, as the report filtered through L's speakers, his victory was in both ears…and underlying it, he was sure…was a faint gasp.

L was discredited.

Kira _Lived._

XXXX

The phones rang, scattered about the house, and the world was in shock. L was refusing to comment, and left Watari to try to maneuver through the flood. The words scapegoat, and liar, were often overheard as panicked governments tried to back-paddle their way into Kira's good graces. They shouldn't have had to. Kira should have been dead.

Yet the reports kept coming, and the world was torn. L's faithful called it a copycat murderer, and his dubious called it his greatest failure.

If they only knew….

Light Yagami was in mandatory confinement again, handcuffed to a chair and blindfolded in the cell L built onto the basement for emergencies like this. It served as double lock-away, in case L was ever found, he could hide Light there until the problem passed.

Now…well, for now, he was there to keep L sane. He was onscreen in the corner of the detective's eye as he sat at the table (the table they'd shared), and thumbed through the Deathnotes, looking for something, anything that would lead him out of this hell-hole he'd dug for himself.

He hadn't been secretive about it, the bastard. There was film of the shinigami ripping pages from the notebook and disappearing…but it wasn't enough. People had to first touch the Deathnote to see the shinigami, and if word got out that L was harboring not only the source of Kira's power, but three copies of it…there would be war.

The surveillance was useless.

Kiyomi Takada…the first to uncover the reappearance of the heart-attacks, and the first to report it. Was she the new Kira? Or was she merely lucky?

He thumbed the pages, searching for answers he didn't have. The list of deceased was climbing steadily, criminals dying on the hour, one for every day of Kira's silence he supposed, or some other pathetic attempt at poetic license.

Another name appeared onscreen.

Light Yagami merely shifted in his chair.

He should make a public statement soon. The phones were ringing.

L Lawliet put his feet down and buried his face in his arms, for once in his life, completely at a loss.


	19. Behind a Mask

AN- Long, intense chapter. You've been warned. This is one of those yaoi-if-you-want-it-to-be stories...it's not intended, that's just my writing style, I'm afraid. This is...Light. My Light, after Kira changed him. I don't agree with everything he says, I'm just portraying the character. Enjoy. Kani

Light's world was dark but beyond these blinds and walls, Kira's world was breaking a new day. He was pissed, royally pissed, to find himself in the same type of containment cell he'd spent over two months in while he was under investigation. L had hidden it behind his wall to wall servers, and while it was supposedly to assist in hiding Light should the wrong people find them, he knew that underlying that had been the need to reassure himself that if it came down to it, L could protect himself from Kira.

Paranoia was the man's forte, after all.

Still, he tried to relax in his chair, knowing that allowing himself to tense would only make him stiff and uncomfortable. It wasn't hard to calm down, with the sound-proof earmuffs and blindfold ensuring a solid void for him to live in. The silence was heavy, and aside from the imaginary colors his mind produced behind his eyelids, there was nothing. He sat with his eyes closed because keeping them open meant he'd have to blink, and fewer things were more annoying than the sensation of his eyelashes brushing the fabric of the blindfold.

Meals came, fed by gloved hands that he recognized as Watari's, the old bastard. He slept often and briefly, usually until the pain in his neck woke him up. It was cold, here in basement, but aside from his long-sleeved shirt, he was granted no protection from the chill.

The scent of rotted meat told him that Sidoh had come to see him once, but it was gone now. The death god apparently didn't deem it important enough to do him anymore favors, and the beast had left without removing any of his sensory blinds, much to Light's ire. Sidoh had a strange sense of affection, and apparently now that his favor had been fulfilled, he considered himself neutral again. Where the shinigami was now, Light didn't know, but if he ever got out of this cell, there would be words exchanged.

The touch came so quickly that he jumped. He immediately cursed himself for the lack of control, but it was fucking disturbing to adjust to absolute void and then have something snatch him from it. There was a hand at his shoulder, and a slight vibration of the concrete under his feet told him that the cart was being wheeled in. It surprised him, because it wasn't long after lunch, much too early for dinner. Then the headphones shifted on his ears, the bar being moved to his neck, and he realized that this was his bath…or as close to one as he was going to get while trapped here. He withheld a sigh of relief, refusing to admit that he was glad the old man was here for that purpose…he felt unclean after his time in this one position.

There was a moment's pause as the chair was removed from the cart and set up beside Light's own. Light refused to move, as was customary when he was subjected to this. It was a small luxury, he confessed, but the thought of another cleaning him was…troublesome, even just the waist up. There was another long pause, and Light's brows furrowed under the blindfold…usually Watari began as soon as possible, eager to be out of the murderer's company.

The hands that touched his collar, however, were bare. Thin, warm fingers pulled his top button open, and the shock of L being present in his cell didn't truly register until the third. His shirt soon hung open, but even then the thought couldn't truly come through. L _never_ visited the cell…not even during his first two month stint in the six by six concrete room.

Still, the hands that brought the rag up to his hair, dripping hot water over his chest, did not move like Watari's. They were thoughtful, slower as they ran the damp cloth down a section of Light's auburn hair, just behind his temple. The soap scent was different, yet familiar, and with a shock he realized that L was actually using real shampoo on the rag. His own, personal shampoo, from his bathroom.

Light was rather confused.

"L?"

There was a pause, then a faint touch on the left side of his jaw…something unnecessary, likely to start a yes and no pattern. He tried again, to be sure.

"Watari?"

The hands paused again, but the touch moved the right side of his chin, just the gentle press of two fingertips.

"L?"

Left…it was the detective, and a touch on the left side meant yes. He fell quiet, suddenly unsure of what to talk about. The washing continued, until the scent of his own soap filled his senses. Touch and smell were the only to things afforded him, and it was actually a treat to have something as familiar as his own brand of shampoo appear so unexpectedly.

Forever analytical, however, Light was soon wondering just what the detective was doing here. It bothered him, and greatly, because things between them were personal now. Even if he always dealt with personas, he knew that his glimpse of the real man beneath them meant that he'd scarred the detective's control. L had let him close, and Light had ripped him wide with it.

So it made absolutely no sense for the detective to be here now, and to be this gentle, making something that was tolerable something not. There was no malice, no ill-intent in these hands, and it was driving Light insane. Watari was clinical, efficient and business-like, with all the tenderness of an undertaker…and indeed, it was a role that the man was familiar with. To have these hands…no, to have _L_ here, doing this…was so personal, that it bordered intimate.

Against his will, he felt himself begin to relax, despite the cooling water that dripped from his hair and ran along his neck. The entirety of his hair was wet with soapy water at this point, and there was a pause when L returned to the cart for the rinsing rag. Light latched onto the break and his confusion and worked them into the first reliable reaction he could manage.

Light became angry.

He had never, under any circumstances, handled confusion well. Usually there was some kind of logic that allowed him to think through his options, some scraps of information that cleared the haze and allowed him to make sense of whatever had thrown him. There was no logic in this. None. L was being kind, when Light had possibly ruined his chances of ever using the L-persona to its full extent again. He'd discredited the most powerful man on the planet, as well as personally insulted him, and yet…L's touch was a gentle one.

It didn't make sense.

He didn't move as the rag returned; the clean hot water from a new decanter annoyingly refreshing. The water falling on his shoulders was minimal, just as professional as Watari's work would be. The intimacy didn't lie in the work…it lay in the touch itself. The way those long fingers combed his scalp to lift the wet hair away for the cleansing. The way they brushed it back from his face, and eased behind his ears to leave nothing untouched. It made him angry, but there wasn't a lot he could do to stop it. He could at least speed it up, however.

"I imagine the news has spread by now? I can't hear them, but I bet the phones are still ringing. Have you slept at all?"

The hands paused, and the touch said no. The simple honesty of it was a sign that L wasn't in the mood to fight him, and only angered him further. "How does it feel?"

There was no response, and if L was talking back to him, Light didn't hear a word of it. The earmuffs blocked every sound, and instead of waiting for it, he waited on the shift in gesture to give it away. The hands continued, the hot rag stroking a section of hair without pause. Body heat just behind his shoulder told him L's position, but aside from that, he had little else to work with. The hands never faltered.

"I suppose I've accomplished what I've set out to do."

He resigned himself to the silence after a moment, and continued. "I've killed L. It was surprisingly simple, too. You haven't given me much of a fight."

The hands continued without pause or tremble. Light was working himself into a quiet fury. He lashed out again. "You practically let me do this…you do realize that, don't you? Between the training, and Sidoh…you completely forgot who I was. Starling woke you up again, didn't he? I'm not talking about L, either, I'm talking about you, you bastard. The man underneath all these false names and faces…the one that's washing my hair."

The touch faltered then, a minute stilling of the fingers, but then they returned to push a section aside. Light caught it only because of his intense focus on the limited sensory information he was receiving. He was picking up on a lot of things now…things that he realized were designed to relax him, keep him docile. They were likely things that Watari didn't use unless necessary, like the gentle, but intentional, scrape of nails across his scalp. L wanted him to stop talking, but Light soldiered on, refusing to be lulled into complacency.

"It is you, isn't it? The man that was angry that night over the table…the same one that I talked to a few weeks ago." The hands didn't pause again until they finished his hair, and there was another break while the detective gathered the third decanter and took his seat again. He was close enough that Light felt the heat of his leg next to his own, and if he hadn't been blindfolded…he'd have been looking him in the eye. Instead, he turned his head to where the detective's face should have been, and talked to the darkness.

"Why haven't you killed me yet?"

It was a dangerous question, one that by unspoken agreement, he hadn't asked. The detective himself didn't seem to want to think about it, and that was fine with Light. The less L thought about his execution, the more time Light bought himself. If there was hesitation at that remark, it was hidden by the lack of contact. A second later, the hands shoved his shirt until it rested more on the back of the chair than Light's shoulders. Light shifted forward as far as the cuffs would allow, accommodating the change.

"Is it because I was your friend?" The rough fabric of a clean rag started just beneath his ear, and swept down to his shoulder. Again, the touch was intimate…Watari often balled the fabric up when washing his skin, which hurt occasionally because Light's throat was sensitive. Instead, the fabric was draped over the detective's fingers, a thin barrier between his skin and that of his captor. It was distracting. "That's almost a lie you know. I have to wonder if I was L's friend, or yours."

The hand left, but only to warm the rag again. The other came to tilt his chin up and back, exposing his throat to the ministration. "But I guess, it'd have to be yours, wouldn't it? For it to hurt as badly as it did."

The rag swept over the wing of his collarbone.

"It had to have hurt…for you to drop L like you did that night, and the day of the execution." A pause there, and Light smirked. "Yes…I saw you then. You can't hide when you're being challenged so directly. Still, I was surprised to realize just how far you'd let me in at that point. I could bring you out with saying anything at all."

The touch returned, slightly more brisk than before. The victory was small, but Light relished it, smiling to himself. "How far have I come, really? It seems that I can bring you out without even speaking now…why else would you be here? Is it Kira that excites you like this…so much that you can't hide behind a mask anymore, that you have to confront me directly? I don't have to dig anymore…you came here without my provocation."

Silence.

"I suppose I'm right." The touch moved to the other side of his throat, and he shivered, finally content to bank his anger and enjoy the attention, since he was obviously getting his blows in with such little effort. The rag disappeared again to be warmed, and he found he quiet enjoyed it just below the hollow of his ear. He almost leaned into the touch, just to further annoy the detective. "I usually am, especially when I'm dealing with you…because we're not so different, you and I. It tears you up, to know that. My every move, my every thought…it's all to serve a single purpose, and one that you understand. You may not accept it, but you do understand. That's what bothers you, isn't it? You're afraid of me."

The hand paused again before sweeping over his shoulder, and Light tilted his head back, chuckling. "You are. We both know it. You're afraid of what I represent, what I'm capable of. I'm a challenge, something you can't figure out, and it drives you insane. That's why I'm still alive. You won't kill me until you understand, so you know better when you're next confronted with it."

Silence and void.

"I'm waiting on you to realize that it's Justice." The rag was warmed again and swept across the breadth of his chest, the trails of water in its wake evidence that the detective was losing his patience. "Granted, it's a rather raw form of it, but the entire ideal is centered upon fear anyway. It's when you strain it, break it down, that Justice becomes weak. It's not meant to be broken. Fear drives it, fear of being injured… fear of being victimized and hurt. No one wants to suffer, and especially not at the hands of another. The right to happiness inspired Justice. I think you know well enough how humiliating it is to be hurt by someone close."

Light stared at nothing, wishing he could see the detective's expression. The rag slipped across his stomach, pausing at the line of his belt before returning up. "You're not going to kill me, are you? When all is said and done…."

The hand withdrew completely for a moment. "You…can't kill me. I'm more than a murderer to you now…I represent an idea. And you can't bring yourself to kill me, because you can't accept me. I'm an anomaly. I've made you doubt yourself, the very person that you are has changed because of me. I see it…when you drop the personas. I see it when you look at me. There is justice in your eyes, but there's humanity there as well. Something that I've lost…or rather, that I gave up."

The rag didn't return.

"And that…that's not your fault. I am protecting the common man, by humbling him. And I suppose…that I've humbled justice."

Nothing.

"…Because I've certainly humbled you."

The left side of his face exploded in a white fire of pain, something that could only have been a ringing backhand. The change in pace was startling, exciting enough to rouse Light from his quiet and make him laugh sharply.

"Oh I have, haven't I…see how far your control has slipped?" There was sudden movement at his side, likely the detective standing up. "Don't leave."

The movement stopped. Light grinned at his victory, testing his grip. "Sit down and finish. I want to talk to you, now that I have you. Kira and the notebooks aside, I want to talk to you. You fascinate me."

There was silence, but then, that had never changed. There was an increase in the heat at his side however, evidence that the detective had indeed returned to his seat, and he was furious. It made Light shiver, to be so vulnerable and still have so much power over the single person he'd ever respected. The absence of the cloth left his damp skin cooling, but he relished the feeling now, lounging back against his seat.

"You hit me."

No response, but he had stated the obvious. His cheek and jaw were numb from the force of it. Slowly, the blood returned the area, stinging and warming it until it was another sharp contrast with the cold air. Light could dimly feel the feathering of the detective's controlled breathing across his stomach…slow and methodical, hiding his anger, and only betraying it further. "I love it when you get like this…I can't imagine your expression right now. I want to see you."

There was a moment of silence.

"Why deny me…I'm not asking for much."

Again, nothing. He was left to silence and frowned slightly, but ignored it. "Do you know what you look like when you're angry? It's the first time I've ever hesitated since I picked up the Deathnote. There was more in your eyes than there ever could be in Ryuuzaki's or L's. It startled me. You haven't a clue how much that bothers me, in reality. It stopped me in my tracks, completely halted every thought in my head…there was Justice in your eyes. You were righteous, something I'd known of, but hadn't seen. I didn't think I'd ever get to."

He was growing tired of having a conversation with himself, but he doubted the detective wanted to touch him at this point, even for a yes and no, and he damn sure wasn't about to ask for it. "I suppose that's part of the personas, really…hiding yourself away like that. Real emotion is hard to contain, and fragile. It's easier to be blank than to control yourself. That's why, right now, your legs are probably drawn up on the seat, trying to re-establish that mask you insist on wearing. Put them down…I don't want to talk to L."

There was a slow, hesitant movement, and Light shifted his leg an inch to feel the length of the detective's thigh against his own before pulling away again, satisfied. "You'll have to forgive me for being forward, but understand that I didn't consider you an opponent, a true equal, until you became angry with me. You let me in then, showed me what I was up against, and it was…gratifying. It showed me that I was working against a person, finally, someone who could really appreciate what I was doing. You understand it better than anyone, and I think…I think you're the one witness to what I'm actually doing. The only one who comprehends what's happening to the world."

Silence.

"I want you to know that I'm thoroughly enjoying this…just in case you're wondering. You've been dealing with Kira and all his glory for months now, and I suppose it's equally gratifying to know that you're more than just a persona to me, too. We never were friends on any superficial level…L and Kira were born to destroy one another. You, however…you and I…we're different. I want to kill you…I need to kill you, but I can't, because you're hiding behind L, and I don't know who you are. You need to kill me, but you won't…because I'm more than Kira. I'm just Light now, aren't I?"

His head was wrenched up and to the side by sharp fingers, and he inhaled sharply, waiting.

And waiting.

He smiled. "Go on…hit me. You've already lost control once, what harm can it do?"

Silence. No pain.

"Yes, you would deny me that now, wouldn't you?"

The hand shoved him away roughly, and the warmth at his side was gone. Instead, it moved, passing his back once, twice, and the detective on his feet and_pacing_. He was walking about the _floor_; he was so irritated that he couldn't be _still_. Light shivered violently, rolling his shoulders as the magnitude of the situation struck him, power lacing his blood like a high-strung harp.

"Damn it, I want to_see_ you!"

There was silence, nothing, no light, not even darkness really…just nothing but his heart in his ears and the feel of his own breathing, uneven in his attempt to _see_, to _hear_.

Nothing.

"Please." His mouth went dry as the word passed his lips, but it was said, done, and damn it, he would say it for no other. The spot of warmth stopped just behind him, frozen. Ironic, that for the first time, he began to wonder just how far the detective had come with _him_.

It didn't matter.

"Please…I want to see you when I talk to you."

Nothing…there was nothing at all for ten seconds, twenty. Light hated the feeling of betrayal that sprung up like a stab wound in his chest, welling up from the darker corners of his mind, because that wasn't fair. He'd made allowances for _him_, the least _he_ do could was-

The blindfold was ripped from his eyes without warning. The light was piercing, hard and bright and wonderful, and it tore a strangled 'Shit.' from his throat. He lost his breath as the vertigo settled and the room came into focus once more. The detective's chest filled his vision, and he lifted his eyes slowly, adjusting fully to the light as he went.

The detective met his eyes, and Light couldn't breathe.

The air locked in his throat for three seconds, five, ten, fifteen. The man looked back at him blankly, but that was enough…that was more than enough. The blindfold hung from his fist as limply as a dead rabbit, offensive to everything that the man himself represented. Light could see him now, and he held his eyes steadily, the sheer power of knowing that he'd freed his sight because Light had merely _asked_…it left his heart in his ears, blood on fire.

He found he had nothing to say, so he said the first thing that came to mind. A smirk eased onto his features, more habitual than intended…he doubted he had the willpower to blink, much less mock the detective. "Hello."

The detective stared down at him for another minute before giving a curt nod of his head. He reached to the side and picked up his chair…when he grabbed Light the last time, he must have stood, knocking it over. The chair settled directly in front of his, now, and with his hyperactive imagination, he could almost hear the clatter of thin metal on concrete. The detective sat before him, bracing his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands before his mouth as he came to stare at Light directly, pinning him in place just as Light had asked…and he had asked hadn't he?

Fuck…he'd worry about that later.

There was a viable storm in those dark eyes right now…justice, fury, sadness…what had before been hollow was now teeming with everything that he'd hidden. Light was tensing against his will as he stared, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe loudly, which was ridiculous because he couldn't even hear himself. Their knees almost brushed, and if Light extended his legs, he could place them on either side of the man's chair…he kept them in, withdrawn for the first time since he realized L was bathing him.

Under those eyes, he felt the strangest paranoia he'd ever sampled…he felt powerful, magnificently powerful, because he'd put that emotion there. He'd drawn this man from the depths of his self control, shattered his confidence like finely wrought glass and crystal. He'd broken into this man, and now his quarry lay bared before him, equally powerful, and just as dangerous as Light himself.

Even with the handcuffs securing him in place, the silence imposed by the bulky headset that hung over his ears, Light knew he'd captured something here. The detective had returned to his seat, refused to run from him, and here they were….

Here they were.

At the man's mercy now, trapped beneath the eyes he'd become slightly obsessed with. This was his enemy…not some sugar-addicted insomniac, not some reclusive OCD hermit…no. This man, the one that saw into his very soul, weighed it against his own with merely a look…this was his enemy….

He made Light feel weak, challenged his every thought to rise and face what he'd called upon himself…and underneath all that, was the bond they'd forged out of Justice's raw strength. Marked each other for whom they were, and there were no more masks here.

It was hard to live like this, he realized.

Words that he couldn't find before came unbidden, at once a flex of his claws and a submissive gesture, neither bite nor yield. "I'm sorry…you came here to think, didn't you? I gave you quite a turn."

The man nodded, still pinning him there, and why had he asked for this again. Under the strain of it, he wasn't sure he could hold those eyes for much longer. There was power there that he was hard pressed to match.

"You'll be leaving soon…to follow the new one."

Another nod, and sparks in his eyes, the light of challenge that he'd been craving since it was first presented to him, in a small café on campus, so long ago. He licked his lips and nodded himself then, unwilling to push the matter.

He chuckled wryly, asking another forbidden question. "What have you done to me?"

The detective tilted his head, and smirked slightly. Light froze when he moved, standing up to tower over the murderer in his chair. His hand came forward, slipped behind Light's ear and into his damp hair. The fist twisting into the nape of it was sudden, sharp, sending a shock of pure electricity through his blood and locking his chest. The detective tilted his head back and held him briefly.

Everything, the grip said….

And then it withdrew, fingers trailing back to his chin before falling away…and the release said nothing at all.

Light had to agree, nodding to himself before dropping his eyes for the first time since the blind was removed. Everything…and nothing at all. Just as he had done.

"We were designed to tear each other apart, I think." The detective's hands rose again, and Light tensed despite himself. They slipped past his throat and pulled his shirt around, nimbly closing the buttons. He sat down as he finished, leaning back in his seat to regard the murderer openly.

"Thank you."

It got him a nod, nothing more.

"I'm not finished with you yet…you might be better off killing me before something else happens." The detective just shook his head no slowly, lacing his hands behind his head and leaning back. They watched each other for another minute or two, Light still withdrawn, and the detective before him as relaxed as he'd ever seen him. It was a disturbing change in role, for both. Eventually, Light dropped his eyes again, closing them against the blacks that were raking his soul over hot coals. He took an unsteady breath and asked again. "What have you done to me…"

There was no answer, because in truth, they hadn't done anything. It was merely their existence, their very natures that had adapted and changed because of one another. Light had come into the game expecting to tear L down, and kill him. Instead, he'd torn him open…and forced him to live. Irony didn't begin to cover it, but it was scary to know that he'd been struck just as deeply, and he wasn't even sure when or how it had happened.

But that was a lie…he knew.

It was when he'd first shattered a mask and seen the man before him…when L became real.

Every step after that had been a fight to re-establish his Kira persona, because those eyes held the truth. There were no masks that could withstand this man…none. So Light was Light, and that…that was the end of it.

The detective stood, reaching for his chair and folding it closed before hanging it on the cart again. Light tensed despite himself when the man moved to stand behind him.

There was a shift at his ear, a brief, precious cessation of the silence. Then a hard voice broke it further, the first thing he'd heard in nearly a week. "Sidoh is haunting me, and Watari will be with you. I doubt there is much more you can do from this chair. Goodbye, Light."

And with a snap, the silence returned, and _he_ was gone. L secured the Velcro straps behind his head, and with the return of darkness came an indescribable sense of loss.


	20. The Wars Within

His name was Quillsh Wamren II.

He was the son of a toymaker, born in the heart of Britain in the year 1935. Wammy's House was a small business run by his father Quillsh Wamren, in the lower east side of the city of London. The building was a small two apartment corner shop, with the loft acting as house and home, and the bottom floor as store and workshop. It was…affordable, comfortable, and perfect for a man raising two sons on his own after his wife passed in the spring of '37.

He designed his first toy when he was three, not long before his mother died in childbirth. Quillsh was a child of amazing intelligence, and his affinity for creation was often branded as the trademark of the blood, a sheer matter of heritage. After his brother, Alphonse, was born, his father moved them from the family estate and into their shop, where he worked tirelessly on his craft, with his two boys as inspiration. Wammy's became a well loved name, and while they lived comfortably, they were generous. They donated to churches and orphanages, because Quillsh Wamren believed that if more people appreciated the common man, the world would be a better place.

They were a quiet voice in a world inching closer and closer to war.

In the outcry of Hitler's campaign, and the threat of his alliance with the USSR, they were a quiet voice indeed. Quillsh was four when the storm over Europe broke. His father told him nothing more than that Hitler was a bad man and he would bad things to people…he told him that the world was going to try and stop him. A very watered down tale to tell a young genius, but even at that age, Quillsh was aware of what his father was trying to do. No one could ever fault the man for protecting his children.

On September 1, 1939, Hitler invaded Poland on false pretext, and the United Kingdom gave him three days to get out. He didn't. He said nothing, really, laughed at them. On September 3, two days later, the United Kingdom declared war upon Germany and its allies.

Nothing will ever truly prepare a child for war.

Nothing.

The whispers grew louder, into a steady roar as Poland fell and both sides fell quiet, regarding each other like large cats reluctant to unsheathe their claws so soon. It was Germany that eventually tensed and sprung. The Axis powers swept across Europe, a fire in a dry field, and one by one, Allies began to fall. Finland, Denmark, and Norway…all of them were razed by the sheer power driving the Nazi campaign. Churchill came into power, and as a nation, Britain readied itself.

Women, children, elderly, and disabled, began evacuations under an operation called Pied Piper on September first. They were moved from probable targets to the countryside of the English moors, dispersed by trains and along the rivers as the nation readied for the inevitable. London was declared a high-priority war zone and the escape mandatory. Children were registered at the station, numbered, sectioned, filed, and shipped. Quillsh, and his infant brother, Alphonse, now two, were among those initially moved.

France fell. Britain remained.

Quillsh was five when the war reached England. From the family estate in Winchester, he listened at the radio as the reports came in of the bombing of London. Somewhere, with thousands of other loyal British huddled in the subway while Hitler rained fire on his home, was his father, a gentle toymaker and a good man. There were thirteen of them, all together, with the groundskeeper's family. Six now, Quillsh was in the hands of the Ruvies, a small clan from the local village hired on to maintain the household once his father relocated them to London for the sake of business. They were warded by an older boy of ten, Roger, while the adults did their best to pretend that all was right with the world.

Eventually, in June of that year, the Wamren estate opened its doors to the second wave of evacuated children. The Ruvies called in spare adults from the local village to run the manor-turned-school and orphanage. As the war in London continued to rage, Quillsh stopped listening to the radio.

Alphonse died of influenza a few months later, in the fall of 1940.

He was the first of twenty three deaths in the Wammy estate that winter, as Britain returned to its feet and took stock of its damage. The house remained open to as many children as it could carry, but even they had to turn trucks further down the road. The distance was painful.

When the first casualty list came around at the end of November, Quillsh found his father's name at the bottom.

He supposed that it could have been worse. He supposed that he might have never found out, resigned to the dull ache of ignorance as so many of his companions were. He supposed that, in reality…he knew all along. That didn't make it hurt any less.

The months following that were nothing short of a blur. They lived for the sake of living, comforting those in need of comfort, providing for those that they could afford to provide for. Wamren's creed lived on in his son, and his household.

The casualties mounted.

December 7, 1941. The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, bringing the Americans into the war with a decided fury that they were unprepared to handle.

April 30, 1945. With the Allies closing in, Hitler kissed his pistol, bringing the end of the war onto the horizon. Quillsh Wamren, now ten, thought to himself that it was rather anticlimactic, in the way that young men do.

August 3, 1945. The _Enola Gay_ dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima.

August 9, 1945. Nagasaki suffered the same fate.

Quillsh Wamren, who turned eleven on August ninth, was sick of war.

In truth, Wammy House never really recovered from World War II. It was still harboring children, though none were running from war now. Now approaching seventy one years of age, Quillsh Wammy, a toymaker turned inventor, was still training children in the ideals of Justice, because it was taken from him at such an early age. He was of the opinion that Hitler had no right to choose his death…not after the atrocities, the abject horrors, that the man inspired and orchestrated.

Orphans were, in truth, the only family Quillsh Wamren had after the gun smoke cleared and the fallout landed. In honor of them, he dropped his father's surname, and took up the mantle that his father created instead.

And so, Quillsh Wamren the II became merely Quillsh Wammy, an inventor and lover of children. There was too much pain in the world for one man to heal, but that didn't stop him from trying…because if more people appreciated strangers, the world would be a better place.

As years went by and his inventions began to sell, he squirreled his money away until he'd amassed a small fortune. Then, with Roger at his side, still his companion after the bloody conflicts of a world gone mad, he opened a small orphanage in the French countryside. Then another, in Germany, and soon another sprouted in America. As charities and churches picked them up, the Wammy House influence spread across the world, small factions opening up to show support for the last thread of camaraderie amongst the common man left in the world. Nations shattered by war pulled together funding for those most affected, and slowly, bit by bit, and piece by piece, the world began to pull itself together.

When the Wammy Foundation was three thousand safe houses strong, Quillsh turned his attention to those he was most sympathetic with…children too intelligent for their own good. He redesigned Wammy House and its estate, with vital input from the Ruvies, who had managed it so well in the face of a holocaust. Roger's partnership spawned the birth of the new Wammy House…a full facility dedicated to orphans of above-average intelligence, designed to ease their education, and pass on a new creed…Quillsh Wammy's creed.

Protect the Common Man.

With the echoes of the war still strong in the halls of the house, Quillsh began to recruit teachers and professors from all over the world. He invited those who had stayed at Wammy during the war to return, as well as branching out to find those bored geniuses like him who still felt the need to contribute to society. In 1974, at the age of 37, Quillsh watched the first batch of graduates leave the house, no longer lost, and no longer orphans.

And in the spring of 1991, he met L Lawliet.

The boy was fourteen, quiet, reclusive, and terrifyingly intelligent. He arrived on his own, without any prior background, and demanded to take the Wammy Aptitude test. When he was denied, he located the nearest Wammy representative in the field and demanded that they prove his parents were dead so that he could qualify.

He took the test with a crayon, because he liked the color green.

His parents never were found, and after six months of the child going unclaimed by relative or organization, Roger registered L Lawliet into the House of Wammy. He chose to keep his name, L, and decided to pursue a career in detective work, and the study of justice.

Quillsh loved him.

In L Lawliet, he saw himself, remembered standing by the same radio in the library and listening to the news with a critical ear, his eyes distant as the voice of justice grew weaker. There had been no Wammy House for Quillsh, but damn him to hell if he was going to deny this boy his chance. In L Lawliet, he saw his own future being re-written even as his bones creaked with the shadow of his coming death. He swore to himself that he would not die until L Lawliet achieved his dream…in living for another he likely bought himself another decade.

Slowly, so slowly, the detective L made his name, and began to change the world. He only accepted cases that were out of the ordinary…nearly unsolvable. Every case, every criminal, and every court he approached with the same motto in mind.

Protect the Common Man.

Quillsh was behind him every step of the way while he re-introduced justice to the world. As a man who had survived the Second Great War, he could see the changes being made, because he had been there. He had lived through Hitler, watched the world stagger back to its feet after the terrors of a holocaust.

So being told to stay home and guard the greatest mass murderer since Hitler himself did not sit well with Quillsh Wammy. It offended his very soul to wheel the bastard in, handcuffed to his chair, and lucky to be alive. In truth the only thing thought in his head was the silent plea for understanding…where had he gone wrong?

L Lawliet was perfect…until Light Yagami stepped into the picture.

Light Yagami….Kira…should be dead. It sickened him to know that the young man was still alive and breathing and that _said_ something coming from a _toymaker_.

Somewhere along the way, he'd lost his Lawliet…and it hurt. It hurt to know that somehow this brilliantly gifted student had sold his soul to remake the world, and in truth, only side-tracked someone who was already accomplishing it. It hurt that Light Yagami got the recognition that his L deserved.

In short, Quillsh Wammy was absolutely soul sick at the thoughts crossing his mind. Were he a weaker man, things might have been different, but Light Yagami remained alive, untouched and unharmed. Were he a weaker man, the recent exchanges between this boy and his might have been acceptable, or at least ignored.

But Quillsh Wammy was not a weak man…and regardless of how much he loved his prodigy, things could not continue like this. Something must break, and he needed only to wait, because somehow…he'd failed. Somehow, he'd been unable to protect L from Kira, and the damage was done. It evident, inescapable, sitting stone still and breathing calmly just behind him.

The world was sliding back into the terror it once knew…Kira was killing justice…Kira was killing L.

He sat at his desk, his tools and wood carvings splayed out before him, untouched as he allowed himself his moment of weakness before the coming storm…with Kira deaf and blind behind him, waiting patiently for something, anything, Quillsh felt his heart break.

Quillsh Wammy wept…

And then he picked up the phone.

XXXX

"_I must reiterate that this is NOT the original Kira, though they are not any less dangerous. I encourage countries that denounced Kira after his death to continue to be strong and unified in their contempt. Kira's time is over, and it is time that the world accepted that. We have seen his twisted justice rise and fall, and now we must show that there will be no tolerance for vigilantes and radicals to control us. We are free thinking people…I think it's time we remembered it."_

-L, world broadcast, April 19th

XXXX

"_As Director of the National Intelligence Bureau of Japan, my only comment is that if L wishes to work with us again to bring Kira down, we are more than willing to accommodate him. We stood firm against the first Kira, and we will not back down now. Japan is waiting, L."_

-Director Aizawa of NPA Japan, April 21st

XXXX

_May 3__rd__, 2009_

"Director Aizawa speaking."

"Aizawa…this is Watari."

"…So L is going to return to work with us?"

"Yes...in fact he is already in Japan. He will contact you when he has his headquarters set up."

"You're not with him?"

"No."

"What of Light?"

"He's staying here with me. Aizawa, there is something very important that I must discuss with you. Something that must not, under any circumstances, come to L's attention."

XXXX

_May 20__th__, 2009_

"It is good to see you all again. In truth I didn't expect all of you to return, but it only hardens my resolve. We are united against Kira once again gentlemen, and the stakes are even higher this time. Some of you will be of minimal use to me now…specifically you, Aizawa-san. Congratulations on your promotion, but you've become a bit of a public figure now…it is dangerous for you to openly denounce Kira. Your broadcast was borderline stupidity."

"I don't intend to be as involved in this case as I was in the last…it would have been impossible even without the message. I intend to be the go-between for the department and the task force."

L regarded him quietly for a moment. "I think that is a valuable asset…one that I did not have before. Thank you. I'm much more confident knowing that you are in control of the department and its security…you know what to look for."

"Ryuuzaki, this isn't a matter of the department anymore." Matsuda spoke up from his place on the suite's sofa, just at L's right. "The internet has become our worst enemy; anyone with a grudge can post a face and a name and have revenge now. If this gets much worse, I don't think we'll be able to clear it up completely. The radicals have already bounced back, there are charities, fundraisers…the Anti-Kira voice is small. The publicity is astounding, especially with Takada backing Kira like she is. The department just can't keep up with it right now."

"…And in spite of that, the NIB can't waste time trying to censor the media." Mogi stated from behind Matsuda's shoulders, his arms crossed in quiet thought. L frowned at the table and his tea, thinking.

"I understand your concerns, but I want you to understand that we are not dealing with someone of Li-…Misa's caliber. I am fairly confident that this is just a matter of time until someone slips up. Kira is a big name…there is a lot of pressure on whoever has the Deathnote, and they will make mistakes. Which brings me to the packets of paper at the end of the coffee-table."

"Ryuuzaki…sorry to interrupt, but how's Light?"

"Matsuda, he is working. Only the four of you know that he is still alive, and we must keep it that way."

"Will he be assisting us on this case?"

"Matsuda! We are not talking about Light right now."

"Oh. I'm…sorry Ryuuzaki."

L moved on, refusing to dwell on the fact that he had just snapped at one of the best men he'd ever met in his life. Matsuda was a good man…all of them were, but Light was not something he would discuss with _anyone_ anymore. He just wouldn't. "I'd like to bring your attention the information packets here on the table. Aizawa, I'm afraid you'll have to read through them here…I don't want this information to leave the room."

He watched the men take one each before continuing. "These are the notes that Light and I have taken on the Deathnotes, as well as a comprehensive report on each of the Notes themselves. At this moment, we are acting on the assumption that the third Kira has acquired another note. Now that we know what we are dealing with, we are stronger than we were before. We are not going into this blind, gentlemen. This time, there is definite hope. We need to work as quickly as possible and at the moment our only lead is Takada…she was the first to issue the report that Kira had returned, yes?"

Ide nodded, leafing through his own notebook. "Yes, I've been keeping up with it for the last month. She first reported his return on the 12th of April, a little over a month ago. Prior to that, there had been no serious claims made…just the usual radical groups and small clergy preaching on the internet and street corners. I've been watching them for a year now, but Takada…Takada had evidence.

"Furthermore, she was influential enough to use it. As an investigative reporter, she's been steadily building a reputation, and I daresay that half of Japan at least tunes in for her program on the evening news. She covers everything from local politics to crime, and does it well."

L nodded to himself, and turned to Aizawa. "I need you to watch her…get me a reason to investigate her, enough for a search warrant and questioning if you can."

"I'll do my best." Aizawa stood and strode to the door, swinging his coat over his shoulders. "I'll put every spare man I have on it, and get a tail in plainclothes."

"Thank you and good luck. Ide, I want you to continue monitoring the media and internet. Countries are choosing sides again, and I'd like to know whom I'm working with."

"May I have use of your system again?"

"Yes, I will issue you a laptop."

"Thank God…."

"Mogi and Matsuda…are you still available to work on a personal basis with me?"

"Here?" Mogi, shrugged. "I can fit all of my possessions into two suitcases…I don't see a problem with moving out of my apartment temporarily to assist you."

"Matsuda?"

"Well…I don't know about _all_ of my possessions, but my _clothes_ will fit, certainly." He scratched his head, thinking. "I can be back here in roughly an hour, depending on traffic."

L nodded.

"Let's get started before anything else goes wrong."


	21. Unlikely Heroes

L stared at his blank screen, his initial flickering so faintly that it lulled him back into his own thoughts…the place he'd been avoided for close to a month.

But that was a lie…it was more a year. In his thoughts, he was subjected to himself…to the reality that he denied because it meant he was wrong…that he'd made a terrible, terrible mistake. L did not make mistakes.

The list on the table in front of him, fifteen pages strong and updated on the hour, told him differently. To say that he was facing a personal crisis was an understatement. He'd reached one of the points in his life where he seriously questioned his sanity, what made him who he was.

Who was he to begin with?

L was justice…L was immortal, L was righteous. He was a mask that L Lawliet wore, because he was afraid of the world and how twisted it had become. He wore it because he was angry, and he was the monster at Halloween, snatching criminals from their work like children from the sidewalk, taking them to someplace dark so that they suffered. He wore it because it suited him…it was a part of him, in some manner or other. He could no more give it up than he could stop his own heart.

A shift, and the notebooks strapped to his stomach reminded him of the paradox. He could, actually, he if he wanted.

There was no question of whether he wanted to give the name up. It was not the name that had betrayed him…it was himself. L Lawliet had lost his mind somewhere in the Kira case, he was sure that if he stopped and concentrated hard enough, he could pinpoint the exact time and event, but that required acknowledging his problems…and that was not possible. That would only serve to ruin this case as well. He needed this case; he needed to rebuild himself, to…get his revenge. Light Yagami wore no masks, and it frightened him. The boy had never lied to him, he'd discovered. He may have turned his face from the detective, but Light…Kira…were one and the same and he made no excuses for it. L envied him, the sick bastard, that he could just…exist. That he could be so blatantly honest and content with his choices.

He'd spoken to Lawliet, and the man had answered. Perhaps that had been his greatest mistake. The feel of his hair in his fist haunted his thoughts when dared let his powerful mind drift to…to _that_. That had been a test of his faith, because for that boy, for that soul, he considered dropping L altogether and just hiding away as Lawliet…as himself. He made him desire normality, the sanctified glory of knowing one's self inside and out. He made him desire to be human.

Human, and not live like the immortal mask of the man he wished he were. The man he created because he was unsatisfied with the one he was. Light made him want to put the mask down.

That's why he was strapped, blind and deaf, to a chair on the opposite side of the world, with the one person in the world that L Lawliet _did_ trust to keep an eye on him. Out of sight, even if his infection tainted L's every thought at this point, and he was not here to mock, to _beg_ with the eyes of youth for him to _understand_.

L Lawliet understood…L didn't. He never would, never could, and he was answering his mask's call because bloody hell, he could not sacrifice everything he'd built to go chasing…whatever it was that Light had asked of him. Shades of grey could only go so dark before they became black, and though Light Yagami's eyes were chocolate…they were dark…they were so very dark.

The alert on his screen brought him from his thoughts and he nearly kissed the monitor as he shoved Light Yagami and everything he represented into the background. It was nothing important, just a signal that Ide's laptop was done synching with the system, but it was a foot hold in the here and the now, and not a trap in a cell with the man that would kill him.

He turned from his main computer to the laptop on the right, going about setting up the permission masks. There were some things that Ide's need not see…like the video of that little cell conversation…the surveillance that showed him and Watari arguing…the clip of him flying through the air when Sidoh first appeared. The main problem would be the one of Sidoh ripping the Death Note to give to…

Bloody hell.

He backed the clip up and stared at the image, typing in a command to slow it down. As he watched, his expression darkened, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched the beast rip the pages…rip the _pages_…_all_ of them. Immediately, half his thought processes backed into a corner with this troubling image. He finished the task, erasing the unwanted footage from the hard drive and doing a short recalibration to get rid of any trace that they existed in the first place.

Mind racing, he turned in his chair, biting viciously at his thumb as he considered the cold paper pressed to his stomach. The notes were always cold to the touch, not of this world and too powerful to bother hiding it. Not of this world…able to phase through solid steel when their true masters willed it, able to stop a human heart without a second thought…able to replenish themselves without effort, adding…indefinite _pages_.

Indefinite.

He stood abruptly, blood cooling on a trail across his palm, but even that pain had taken a backseat to the thought that just crossed his mind. A thought that he should have considered a long time ago, a thought that he was ashamed he'd missed. He'd changed, his focus shifted somewhat, and it was time he brought it back into play.

He slung the blood from his hand and rubbed it on his jeans before lifting his shirt. He removed the Gelus' note, and stared at it for a moment, his bloodied hand forgotten. This had been Misa's note…the only true gift of the three notes. It chilled his blood that something so potent could be given in a mockery of good will. He crossed to the large study table, clicking on the lamp. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to bright light. The television was on mute in the background, but the room was otherwise dark as he wasted time until the sun rose and the team returned. Sleep was a thing of the past.

He shoved papers out of the way, clearing a spot large enough to accommodate the lamp and the note. He'd put the files back in order later, he supposed, because Mogi was an intimidating man, for all his quiet precision. His fingers shook slightly as he laid the note open, thumbing past the filled pages as quickly as possible, leaving a red trail in his wake. The first blank page filled his vision, and he blindly reached for a chair, sitting hunched over the table as he studied it. There was no evidence of tearing, and the spine was hardly bent. A quick count revealed 140 pages…while working with Light, they'd learned that there were always one hundred and forty blank pages exactly at the back of the notes, no matter how many came before. The second a pen touched a page and marked it in any way, a fresh sheet appeared in the back.

L turned to the back and studied the cover, the spine there…again nothing.

Frustrated, he stood, marked the back with a finger, and thumbed to the first blank page again. His fist closed and he dimly registered the familiar click of a beak and the scent of death as he tensed, and ripped.

The pages came away in his hand, and he stared stonily at the blank page just behind the last written one. His fingers had brushed the leather-like cover as he'd torn the second half out, he knew it. His eyes flickered to the bundle of pages in his hand, their binding still holding somewhat…it resembled tacky blood, half-dried and rusty crimson. It shimmered in the lamp light like fresh gore. Hand shaking, he picked up the note and glanced at the spine….

One hundred, and forty new pages between his hand and the back cover.

He didn't need to count them.

Nausea welled as he fell back into his chair, and he gagged on nothing. His legs drew up of their own accord, and he hid his mouth behind his knees, his thumb throbbing with his wild heart. A full note…Kira was working with what amounted to a full note…enough to last a year if they bothered with to write small enough, longer if they slowed down.

The clicking returned, and his eyes rose and found the black coals of Sidoh's. The death god watched him warily, unafraid, and L had to lick his lips before he found his voice.

"How long?"

"A month."

A month until the death god ran out of time…and when he did, so did L. The exact terms of their deal were bitter memories on his tongue, words spoken out of desperation, a contract that he could no more take back than live forever.

The God's eyes were on the pages, soberly watching the thing that would save him.

He could not have it.

L didn't know how he would manage it, but Sidoh would not have the note. L had worked too hard, and still had a long way to go before he could put any of this behind him, and there would be no second guessing. There would be no loose ends.

Without another word, he picked up the torn pages and the note and tucked them back into his clothing.

Sidoh cocked his head, a crimson glow flashing beneath the void of his eyes…irritation, perhaps. L ignored him, standing to turn the light off and return to the computer.

"Lawliet…I think you should turn on the news."

L froze.

"There's something of interest…that you might want to see." The beast was mocking him, he knew, but as he glanced at the screen to his left, he felt the same sense of dread tightening his stomach.

The television was on mute, but the dead eyes haunted him still. Kira….the death notes…they had touched this woman, he could _see_ it. Like a poison, they were present, holding on to the soul. She was beautiful…so beautiful, and he idly wondered why every real Kira had been beautiful. She sat next to the other worst possible person she could be in contact with. He took two more steps to his desk and picked up the remote.

The words were clouded at first, and he shook his head slightly to refocus on the Japanese. The words became clear, and his blood turned to ice in his veins as fury wound its way through his gut….

Something else had just gone wrong.

XXXX

"_Welcome back everyone, this is Demegawa with an exclusive interview. Here with us on our late show is the one and only Kira spokeswoman, Kiyomi Takada. Yes, Ladies and Gentleman, this is the woman that brought us the truth again, that brought hope back to us! Tonight, she appears on the original station to support Kira, the place where her voice first rang through the world. Now, before the break, we were discussing the world's reaction to this glorious news. Ms. Takada, how would you say it's going?"_

"_I would say that the world in general has been very open to the idea of Kira returning. She was so powerful that it's hardly a surprise. Not even death can stop a goddess." _

"_However, there are those who do not agree with the general public?"_

"_Oh, of course. There are those that lost faith in Kira after that blasphemous detective told us that she was dead." _

"_Ah yes, the detective L, ladies and gentleman. I'm sure you're all familiar with him."_

"_He's a liar."_

"_Excuse me, Ms. Takada? So serious, suddenly…."_

"_I do not take my God lightly, Demegawa-san, and L is a liar. The detective L not only lied to us about Kira, he hunted her from the beginning, victimizing innocent people to justify his work." She stood, hands out entreatingly. "I am _not_ a victim of Kira. Kira is making the world a better place, and it's time that we, the faithful, united against those who would blind us. Yes, L we are free-thinking people…and this is our _decision_."_

_Demegawa stared in awe as the priestess spoke, the audience cheering. _

"_We, the faithful, follow Kira of our own free will. You're protecting no one but the criminals that Kira has sworn revenge on…the unclean, the damned! You are nothing but the devil's advocate L, and we are no longer listening!"_

_The crowd's voices rose. She spoke over them, dead eyes fiery in the camera._

"_We will win this war, L! Kira is God, immortal, chosen, and more powerful than you could dream of being. You are nothing in comparison. You are a liar, and a blasphemer, and your kind will not be tolerated. You represent the only shred of discontent in a world of peace! You are the remaining shard of glass in Kira's Perfect World! You will die, L…Kira will not allow you to live. You will be judged.__"_

_Oh, the people…the fools._

_She gazed over the stadium for a brief moment before holding her hand up for silence. Her eyes…her dead, dead eyes, mocking him…._

"_I, Kiyomi Takada, Voice of Japan, and of the People…the Voice of Kira…I publicly denounce L. I refuse him, I vilify him, and those who support him. I will not tolerate the unjust, the misguided. Kira has returned, and there can be no more excuses. The time has come to choose your side, L. You either accept Kira…or you damn yourself. The People witness, I call you out. Make your choice, or Kira shall make it for you."_

XXXX

"L?"

Matsuda's voice made him jump, still replaying the statement in his head. He turned the T.V off and turned around. The younger detective was pulling a shirt over his head and across his stomach as he stepped out of his room, dressed for bed, but obviously having yet to reach it. The suite's door remained open behind him, revealing the dim glow of his own television. He glanced once between the detective and the still humming screen, and frowned.

"Don't listen to that shit. She's not the voice of the people…there are still those that support us and our cause."

"Are there Matsuda-san?" It was bitter, and he hadn't intended for it to sound so harsh, but really…he wasn't in the mood for company. The younger detective came to stand behind and beside him, bracing his elbows on the back of the couch.

"Yes. And even if there weren't, we couldn't let this go. Right?"

His smile was so broad, so earnest, that it made L physically ill to look him in the eye, knowing that of all of them…he was lying to this one the most. The others had, at one time or other, shared his suspicion of Light…but even with all the voices against him, Matsuda maintained Light's innocence. Even when his father had failed him, Matsuda was there to hold him up. Light's lie hardly compared to L's own…to let him continue believing.

For the sake of friendship, men did strange things indeed.

He dropped the remote onto a nearby chair and placed himself on the couch, just to the side of Matsuda's dangling arms. Despite himself, he supposed it was better that he have company for the next hour or so…it would keep him from further depression.

Matsuda eyed him as he sat down, the concerned expression still riding his features. "You haven't been taking care of yourself, you know that?"

"Yes, I am aware that my health is lacking of late."

"You do realize that health is what gives you energy…something as simple as your diet and sleep can determine the amount of energy and focus you have each day."

"I know…It is just hard for me to shut down sometimes and get the rest that I need."

"I can't begin to imagine." Matsuda mused, truthfully. "Kira is enough to keep anyone awake at night."

"Shame…if we were asleep, we likely wouldn't wake when our hearts stop beating."

Matsuda gave him a sharp look, but L was unapologetic. He hadn't asked for the company, and that meant that the younger man would have to adjust accordingly. "You shouldn't talk like that."

"It is simple fact."

"And we all know it…it's also irrelevant. You know as well as I do that we couldn't back away now to save our lives…literally."

"True…you are right, however. I should not be so morbid. I apologize."

"When did you last sleep?"

"I'm not sure." L knew without looking that Matsuda hadn't bought it.

"No, I'm serious. When?"

"…Roughly six days ago."

Matsuda stared at him openly. "You're going to kill yourself. The team's not going to be up for another six hours…why don't you try to get some rest?"

"I can't."

"Do you trust me?"

That was a question that L hated, no matter the circumstances or who it was that asked it. The answer was no, would always be no, because anything else left him open to bitter disappointments and pain. It left him vulnerable, open to….God, when had he begun to trust Light?

The thought floored him.

Matsuda watched him carefully, frowning to himself as the expression on his face shifted. He moved to stand behind the detective and placed his hands on the thin shoulders. "Okay, bad question. I just…this is something that my mother used to do for me, you know? I used to have nightmares as a kid…really bad ones, and I would go days without sleep as an eight year old boy."

The hands on his shoulders were making him tense, but this was Matsuda, not Light, and he would try not to be insulting by making a comparison of the two. There were no ill intentions in these hands, no ulterior motives. Just…concern.

He tried desperately to make himself believe it.

"It wasn't good for me, so she studied up a bit on the nerve workings in the human body." The hands slipped from his shoulders to either side of his throat, and he shied away from them.

"Matsuda-san, don't….

"Relax. Trust me, okay? You're going to save the world, I promise I'm not going to kill you." The chuckle behind him somehow at once soothed and panicked him. He waited. The pressure was gentle at first, fingers that had obviously done this countless times before. "The Chief used to ask me to do this before he went home, so he could get some sleep after hard cases. The man was a bulldog…he wouldn't let anything go."

The explanation eased his mind where nothing else had, because he had trusted Soichiro.

Never mind that he'd allowed the man to die to serve his own purpose…that his death was meaningless now, because L had failed.

"Ease up…You're undoing everything." He tried to relax. He really did.

The hand rubbed brief circles into his skin, concerned, but hardly intimate…nothing like Light's hands. Nothing like Light at all, and perhaps he needed that more than anything. His death grip on the spare fabric of his jeans eased, color returning to his knuckles. "Thank you Matsuda-san…."

"Meh, it's nothing…." The man waved it off. "You're not loosening up enough though..."

Dimly, a warning bell went off in the back of L's mind, something he'd said earlier. "You said your mother studied all nerve-"

"Yeah, don't hate me for this." Before the detective could move, the hands changed positions, lining up on various pressure points along his throat. He was paralyzed for three seconds, four…and then the world began to fade away, as sleep took him with all the grace of a sledge hammer.

Matsuda held the grip until he was sure the detective was under, and then sighed. It was a trick that he'd likely only be able to pull once, because he knew L would never trust him again after that, but the man needed his sleep. He may be the greatest detective in the world, but he was just as human as the rest of them, and lack of sleep meant loss of function. He suspected Watari's absence had something to do with his bad habits. As carefully as he could, he laid the man out on the sofa, trusting him to be warm enough in the suite's living room. He felt awkward enough already; he wasn't about to tuck the genius in like a child.

At least he was sleeping.

With that, Touta Matsuda headed back to bed himself, clicking off his own television to avoid the horror stories of a world slipping into madness.

XXXX

AN- And that, my friends, is why Touta Matsuda kicks ass.


	22. As it all unravels

_June 11__th__, Demegawa's Show_

"L has done good work in the past, but it doesn't change the fact that when he came across something he couldn't handle, he lied to the world about it. I mean really, it's not hard to believe that he never came close to catching Kira. Or even, I daresay, that Misa Amane wasn't the original. Takada is perfectly righteous to call him on it, because after all…what proof did he offer? There wasn't even a showing of the body, so what's to say that he's not got Kira squirreled away somewhere? That, of course, implies that Kira would allow such an act, because it's been a year at least since the supposed capture, however…we've yet to see solid evidence of anything at all. Not the original Kira, nor the supposed murder weapon, and there were no high priority criminals evacuated from Japan at the time…so the question isn't whether Kira is real and back, the question is whether they died to begin with. People are likening this to the Rapture, or the Second Coming of Christ, but all we have to show for the death of a god…is L's word. Now isn't that funny?"

"Yes, Professor, it is. Now, our next guest has some startling revelations to-"

XXXX

"Hello?"

"_Kiyomi Takada?"_

"…Who is this?"

"_It's not important."_

"This is a private line…I can have you arrested for-"

"_I can hardly arrest myself, now can I? We've worked together in the past, and I'm here_ _to do you a service, if you'll hear me out."_

XXXX

_June 15__th_

"And our top story tonight, a curious supporter has made an amazing discovery. In light of the recent accusations against L, supposedly the world's greatest detective, he decided to make a pilgrimage to the only shrine he had left. To pay his respects to Kira, Toji Otsumoko visited the family tomb of the Amanes, located near Okinawa. Inside the tomb he made a discovery that could change the world.

"…And I know it was wrong and stuff, but I broke in…I just wanted to be close to her, you know? It, uh, was impulsive more than anything…you know, and I just…I dunno…so anyway, I broke in, right? And there's like this urn, in the middle of the tomb, just sitting there. And there's her dad, and her mom and stuff, and nothing for Misa. Just this little silver urn, with no name, no marker, nothing…so I was all like…what if this is it? What if this is the proof that L hid from everyone?"

The urn and its ashes are currently being processed for DNA results, searching for some clue as to who was so unceremoniously tucked into the grave of Kira's parents. BBC News will keep you updated!"

XXXX

"Thousands of people wish to offers services to Kira, sir. You can call one of the hotlines and-"

"_You're looking for L."_

"…No, I'm not looking-"

"_Yes, you are. I don't blame you. I think we both know that whoever Kira is, their currently in some mortal form and L knows where they are. L is good at what he does; he's merely made a mistake."_

"…What are you getting at?"

"_L is currently working with the Japanese police force in secret."_

"…How is that possible?! He's in France!"

"_No…his proxy is in France. The man is here, working with a small team of detectives,_ _just like before."_

"How do you know this? Who are you?"

"_My name is Teru Mikami."_

"…Mikami? I…haven't seen you in ages, how are you?"

"_I'm fine, but my time is short. Do you want my help or not?"_

XXXX

_June 18__th_

"I must remind everyone that while these ashes _were_ found in the tomb of the Amanes, there is only so much that can be done with charred flesh. There were no fingerprints on the urn, and I feel the need to remind the world that this may _not_ be Kira. It is not too far fetched to think that some follower put the ashes of a loved one there in hopes of guidance or some form of peace."

"But if it is Kira? What then Prime Minister?"

"If it is Kira…Then L has a lot of explaining to do, because that would be two Japanese citizens put to death to end the threat of Kira's reign-"

"I'll remind you that you're on a Kira-supportive show, sir."

"Ah…That would be two citizens put to death and… that didn't work. Two lives wasted, and no results. It leads one to wonder just what L is doing?"

"What he's doing, sir? Are you implying that there is some scheme on L's part?"

"Well that much is obvious. What I'm really wondering is what exactly we're going to find here…The ashes of a god, or a scapegoat?"

XXXX

"Why would I need your help? You've told me enough for an intelligent investigator to work with."

"_You'll never find him without me, Takada."_

"You're just a prosecuting attorney, what else could you offer me?"

"_I was on a first name basis with the entire homicide investigation bureau. Would you like to know who I haven't seen lately? Who I have spoken to at the office, and who's dodging my calls?"_

"…You can name his team?"

"_I can find his team…and when I find his team, I find L."_

XXXX

_June 22__nd_

"It has been confirmed Ladies and Gentlemen…the ashes in the tomb belong to no other than Misa Amane, Japan's most celebrated model and Kira."

XXXX

"Why are you doing this?"

"_Because I need to."_

XXXX

_June 23__rd_

"Last night the new broke that the ashes found in the Amane tomb did, in fact, belong to one Misa Amane. However, the mysterious circumstances surrounding the model's death have raised a few interesting questions. While some still believe that Amane was Kira, and that she is now immortal, there are others that raise a frightening theory…one that the entire world is shocked to hear. What if…just what if, Ladies and Gentleman…L himself is Kira?"

XXXX

"_I need to because I'm one of those few people that still believe our God is alive."_

XXXX

The light was blinding. It struck his eyes and drove through his skull like pure fire, a sharp, bitter pain that made tears well in its clarity. There were no words to describe how much Light was coming to loathe that specific pain.

The curse left his mouth of its own volition while his headphones were removed, and it earned him a sharp twist of the ear. The growl that skittered out of his chest was ignored, however, as the old bastard turned around and returned to whatever he was doing. A quick glance revealed that he'd been moved from his cell to some kind of workroom. Three tables took up the majority of the space, covered in all sorts of tools and pieces of various projects. By craning his head sharply to the left, Light could see the headpiece of a bed, and next to it was a long rifle case.

He turned back around and found himself presented with Watari's back.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm working."

"On what?"

"Something that needs to be worked on."

Light scowled at him, but the expression did little damage to the crisply ironed shirt he was staring at.

"Why am I in here?"

"If you continue to speak I will gag you."

He sighed, closed his eyes, and waited for his headache to go away.

XXXX

"What the hell are they talking about, L is Kira?!" Matsuda raged somewhere over his left shoulder, replaying the clip loudly. The insult struck a chord somewhere in L's chest, deep and hard, but his expression remained chiseled in stone. He was tired, so very tired, after the intermittent naps he'd had at his desk and the one decent night's sleep Matsuda forced on him. He was appropriately irritated with the man, but when all was said and done, he'd let it go rather easily. He'd needed it, after all. Matsuda was pacing now, flipping through some random report in his hands, while that damn clip kept playing in the background. "Where are they getting this shit?! How is that even possible? It's not, they're just reaching for straws, trying to organize a fucking manhunt on-"

"Matsuda-san, that's quite enough."

The detective stopped at stared at the back of L's head, his expression incredulous. "How can you stand it? How can you sit there and let them trash everything you've built?"

"I do it by sitting still, and focusing on the task at hand. Your incessant swearing and constant movement is distracting me from that, so unless you would _like_ to see me lose my temper, you will sit down and resume the same task."

"It just isn't fair." Matsuda raked a hand over his features and took a deep breath. "I know it's childish of me to still cling to that ideal, but it's just not right."

"There is nothing childish about right and wrong, Matsuda-san. It is nice that someone, at least, is angry for me, even if they cannot change the opinion of the public on their own. To even try at this point is a fool's errand. Please, return to your seat and finish that report…I need it quickly."

"…I wish Light were here."

He felt himself stiffen, just slightly, the words on the screen suddenly blurring before his eyes.

"I don't mean that offensively, of course…I just…I felt a lot better when there were two of you, Ryuuzaki. We were invincible then. I don't know if it was because he was a suspect or not, but he never gave up…."

"I have yet to give up, Matsuda-san."

"I know…but it kind of feels like you're working on a problem that you already know the answer to."

L turned his head slightly, and his voice almost shook, almost. "Are you questioning my dedication?"

"Of course not...Heh, I'm not even sure what I'm talking about." The lie was smooth, especially for a man of Matsuda's frank honesty. That hurt, more than anything, more than even the broadcast accusing him of being Kira. Even Matsuda had lost faith in him?

"You wouldn't have said that if there weren't some truth to it."

Mogi's steady typing fell away at that, leaving only Ide working in the background with his laptop. "It's not that he's lost faith in you, Ryuuzaki. He's just worried that perhaps you can't handle this on your own. You may not see it, but we do, and it's wearing at you. Without Light and Watari, you're not taking steps you normally would have to see this case through."

"…Exactly." Matsuda jabbed a pen in Mogi's direction, collapsing into his seat. "Furthermore, I'm just really, really worried that you're going to work yourself to death. Mogi and I live here in the suite with you, and more often than not, we get out of bed to find you in the same place that we left you in…I know you're not sleeping well. All I'm saying is that I don't know how to work with you the way they did. We can't anticipate your needs like Watari, and we can't read you like Light could to tell you when you're overdoing it. You have to work with us, not alongside us, you know?"

L was quiet for a long moment, stirring his tea idly as he thought about their words.

"I am touched by your concern, gentleman, but we have wasted another fifteen minutes."

XXXX

His head throbbed. It ached, it pounded, it screamed at him, his every blink, his movement triggered a wave of pain down through his eyes and temples. His weeks in the cell had done nothing more than treat him to a mild form of photosensitivity, and now he suffered. It was torture.

…Torture, because the bottle of ibuprofen sat at the man's elbow and mocked him. It was out of reach, blessed relief merely feet away, but he wouldn't ask. He wouldn't ask Watari for anything.

He found himself wondering if he would ask L for it, were he here.

Likely not.

Bright spots of color, similar to the negative of a camera flash, hovered in his line of sight like phantom embodiments of his headache. There was no escaping them, and they moved slowly, hypnotically shifting colors behind his eyelids. He found it easier to suffer in silence, waiting for the pain to ease on its own, than to even consider asking for the medicine. He sat with his head down, waiting, staring at the fabric of his pants when he opened his eyes; staring into nothing when he closed them. It was peaceful, to an extent.

Watari did not speak to him, and that was fine with Light. He was sure they both had enough to think about without being forced to share each other's opinions. There wasn't a need for conversation when hatred was a palpable tension between the two of them. They remained that way for a long time, almost a week, with Light being returned to his cell at night for a few hours of quiet, and nothing to encourage a change.

It seemed that his time divided itself between these two states, one of utter and complete blackness, a void imposed by the blindfold…and the stoic image of this old gentleman, quietly whiling the days away on some imperfect project or other.

The pain was constant…the pain never faded.

Today, there was something off in the set of the man's shoulders. He glanced at the phone upon his third desk more frequently, hunched over his tools and mechanical pieces a though they would run away. The change in posture was evident, but Light wasn't ready to sacrifice his sight again for the sake of commenting. Let the old man have his worries…if luck was in Light's favor, they were probably justified.

He suddenly found himself presented with the front of that pinstriped old shirt, the line of buttons out place until he raised his head to find the man staring at him. A pair of clockmaker's glasses hung from his throat, and his work must have been delicate because the frames grossly distorted the wearer's vision. They sat there for another moment, just staring at one another, and Light began to wonder if Watari was poisoning him somehow.

No, that was too crude. He was more likely restricting a vitamin from Light's diet to put him so far under. Potassium or Iron would do it. There were others, but the pain-haze made it hard to focus.

"Do you regret any of it?"

The sound of Watari's voice seemed unnaturally loud after weeks of nothing but silence and the quiet clicks of tools and parts moving, but it was spoken softly. Light shifted his focus to the blank expanse of wall behind the old man, because it was easier to concentrate on the white than it was the man's expression. "Not really."

"Why?"

"…I was a kid once. Just a boy, on the outskirts of a big city in one of the most densely populated countries in the world. There was never really a reason to be afraid, just rumors and warnings from my parents. I grew up without a fight." He closed his eyes, at once hating and welcoming the darkness. "As I got older, however, I began to mature. Things become complicated when you start to get older…things take on new meaning, true intent becomes veiled by deception, willing or not. It's not a matter of hiding from the violence at that point, because you're already trying to deny what you're seeing…trying to return to that blessed state of innocence when you were blind to pain."

He paused, but Watari offered nothing further. The belated thought that he was sharing this too easily came to him, but it meant nothing. Light licked his lips and continued, his voice slightly hoarse from lack of use. "It wasn't until I was about fifteen that I finally understood what my parents were talking about. How people took things…and more importantly, each other, for granted and that every act of violence affected someone, somehow. I was out with my sister, shopping in a new mall they'd opened up. My parents were in an electronics store on the ground floor while I walked her up to some outlet shop on the second. I remember, as we walked in this group of teenagers spotted us. They followed us inside…followed Sayu, I should say."

"My sister is a beautiful girl. She was only thirteen." Light glanced back at the man's eyes but they were unmoved, still as distant as ever. "I followed a few feet behind her the entire time…I even told her not to come out when she tried on her clothes. The boys made a thin attempt to cover what they were actually there for, and they stared constantly. I never left her side…and I'd never been more afraid to. A year before that, I wouldn't have even noticed…and Sayu _still_ hadn't glanced up. If I'd left her alone, they likely would have approached her, and then…I don't know.

"I rushed her out of the store and back to where my parents were waiting. I could hear them, a few paces behind, cracking obscene jokes and making lewd comments. She never did notice…not once. It scared the hell out of me, because I understood then how much the world changes when you become responsible for something. When you add another person, someone worth protecting, to the equation, it seems like every shadow is out to get you. That part never changes. It soon grew past those in my immediate family…to friends and teachers and the like. I had a classmate, a young woman in my Algebra class, who was raped and shot in the downtown area in the second semester of my junior year. It's more personal that some would think… when you grow used to seeing a face, when they're a part of your routine, and suddenly you'll never see them again. You'll never hear them laugh and wonder to yourself what was so funny."

He shifted, nodding slightly to himself. "Once it's done, you can't escape things like that…when they start to affect you personally, when you take on responsibility…because then no one can protect you anymore. Parents can only do so much, and then you're on your own for a lot of things. Violence in any form reaches far. I remember…I remember what it felt like to walk Sayu away from those boys…I remember that day when Maiki didn't turn up for class. I remember the day I started carrying my money in my pocket and not in my wallet, because if I were mugged, they were more likely to take the wallet and run.

More importantly, I remember thinking to myself that people shouldn't be afraid. They shouldn't have to live this way, constantly looking over their shoulders, arming themselves because camaraderie is dead. People shouldn't fear each other."

"So you sought to become a god, and give them something worth fearing?"

"When it first started, it wasn't a matter of what they feared, it was the raw act of cleansing that felt right. It didn't matter that I wasn't being acknowledged at the time, because I was still doing something no one else had the guts to do. I can't stand predators…I can't stand murderers and rapists and people who hurt each other simply because they don't know how to handle their problems. There's no excuse."

"After it started?"

Light frowned, remembering the first Kira site he ever uncovered. "It was like someone was patting me on the back. When the people named me Kira, when they began to allocate credit for my work, I was shocked…pleased of course, but shocked nonetheless. I'd been prepared to run with the Note, to dance and hide and keep it up, but I hadn't expected gratitude so early on. I didn't think the world was ready for a new born god-figure. They made that decision…not me. L just cemented me into power when he decided to take up the case…for someone like L to acknowledge me as Kira was something short of steroids for my ego. After all…when the greatest detective in the world begins to pay attention, there's not much left to do in the way of publicity."

"Do you regret it?"

"Kira? Never. Some of my choices, maybe."

"Like what?"

"What is this? A confessional?" Light snapped, turning his head aside.

"What do you regret?"

"I don't know! I don't…know what I regret, I just know what hurts."

"And that is?" There was a silence for a long moment following that question.

"I loved my father once, do you know that?" Watari remained silent, though a slight look of surprise graced his features. "I used to love my family, my father…You can't love and use a Deathnote. To judge, to be able to do this work, you can't be capable of love. Impartiality doesn't have an on and off switch. I had to give up love the second I picked it up. When I decided to cleanse the world so that my sister wouldn't have to hide herself for her own protection...when I decided that maybe being a cop wasn't good enough, and that I could do more. I could do so much more."

"Love makes us human."

"The lack of it made me a God…though sometimes…just every now and then, I think Gods are less than human."

"How can you not regret any of this…even your family? You tore them apart to justify your murders."

"Because this wasn't about them…they just set me on the path."

There was a moment of silence, of hard stares, and Watari shook his head and slowly turned around again. Light swallowed once, and closed his eyes, retreating to the dark because his eyes ached. "Watari..."

"Yes?"

"L…I'll regret killing him."

His headache intensified, and Kira just gritted his teeth, riding the wave out silently. He tried to think of something, anything other than what he was missing beyond these walls. By now, if things had gone according to plan, the world should begin to suspect L as Kira. If he was lucky, they would kill him before Light escaped, so that he could take care of the evidence L had before they caught up with him. After that, it was a just a matter of playing the martyr, trapped by a mass murderer as a back-up in case things fell apart. Just like Misa Amane, he would be innocent of all charges, all the evidence sculpted by L, a genius with an infallible history of perfection.

That left him the matter of escaping.


	23. To Lie

An- Hehehe, (singsong) I'mmm about to sur-prise youuu.../end of creepy An.

XXX

How did one go about killing a God?

"_We were designed to tear each other apart, I think."_

There was abject silence in the work room, the kind that only accompanied the hour of three in the morning. Perched at his desk, raw sugar in cube form within reach and the deathly chill of Deathnote pressed to his stomach, L began to wonder when he'd gone so far wrong. The line of thought was annoying, but nevertheless, it remained in the back of his mind like the most abstract of poisons, designed by L himself to keep the beasts of his intellect at bay. Even knowing the answer to the greatest mystery of his life had not been enough…his victory had been hollow, his stalemate forced and weak. Driven by weakness…by a mask and the nagging thought that perhaps he could do better…and even that had fallen through in the end. After all…what did it matter? What did any of it matter? There were no excuses for what he'd done, but he could learn from this. He could learn and grow and damn him if he'd ever make this mistake again.

How did one kill a _God_?

There was light flickering under Matsuda's door, and the answer came to him again, an almost nagging rush of clarity where before he'd denied himself. The sugar crumbled between his teeth with a decisive crack as he watched that tell-tale light, slowly gathering himself for the coming storm. Things couldn't go much further wrong, and if he stopped to think about it…he owed Matsuda nothing. Everything, of course, and nothing at all…there could be no more allowances for the heart and soul because after all, wasn't that what had driven him so far from his path in the first place? Lies, deception, affection and trust…one and the same when painted with the harsh reality that was a Death God and his tool. A mortal god…it was on nights like this that L didn't think Light all that arrogant for his claims.

He imagined, dimly, that he could hear the faint voices or music from whatever show Matsuda was whiling the hours away with, even though he knew that the television was muted out of respect for his co-workers in the adjacent rooms. Matsuda never failed to impress, and vilify him. In the aura of sheer camaraderie, of good and decent people, L felt as unclean as Light himself…and he wasn't far wrong. If he'd lied to anyone, he'd lied to Matsuda. If he'd lied to anyone, he'd lied to himself for thinking that perhaps, just perhaps, there was something to be gained for sparing a life.

…He didn't know why he bothered with the comparisons, because in reality…L was just a liar.

A fine liar.

Eyes still on the crack beneath the door, L sent his email.

XXXX

"Yes, he's been calling her infrequently over the last week or so…"

"You have absolute confirmation?"

"Of course."

"What is he like?"

"Mikami? He's…intelligent, a prosecuting attorney…he's worked with her in the past but I felt you should know anyway."

"Yes, and what of his temperament?"

"Kira-supportive."

"…Bring him in."

"What?"

"I said bring him in…I want to meet him."

"L, you were able to restrain Light and keep him under surveillance because his father was on the team, and he was willing to work with us. You can't expect me to bring in a law-abiding citizen on the grounds that he's contacted an old acquaintance who just happened to be Kira's spokeswoman."

"Aizawa-san, that is exactly what I expect. The circumstances allow for-"

"I _know_, what the circumstances allow for, Ryuzaki, but you can't rush into things like this."

"I said I wanted to meet him and nothing more."

"Ryuzaki…It didn't work the last time. You're jumping the gun."

"…Aizawa-san…I mean no offense when I say that you have no idea what you're talking about. Bring him in."

"What's the point?"

"The point is that we have someone who is contact with a possible Kira walking free, without the slightest idea of their motives and why that contact is being made."

"…Just…don't do this because you have no other leads."

"Aizawa-san, this conversation was over about three minutes ago. Bring him in."

XXXX

How did one kill a God?

The process was very simple, and ironically liberating. The act was, in and of itself, a lie. He stared at the file in his inbox with a small sneer of disgust. The window hovered in the background of his console, hidden behind various lists, graphs and schematics that should have held his attention. A lot of things _should_ have been the focus of his vast attention, but just as that one train of thought was focused on self-berating, that corner of his inbox window drew his eyes from the task at hand. The menial, and quietly desperate, task at hand.

He was building a profile on Teru Mikami at the moment, because he wouldn't meet the man for another three days. His thoughts were divided between him and the current bane of his existence, that wretched anchorwoman with arrogance to rival Light Yagami's. She didn't have the eyes…that was some relief at least. The note's pages did not transfer ownership, and the note was still attached to Light. Unless he gave it up, she couldn't make the deal with any shinigami.

The quiet sounds of working filled the suite, and it was almost domestic at this point. Somewhere between the squeak of Matsuda's highlighter, the click of Ide's keyboard, and the intermittent awakening of the printer for a file from Mogi, there was little to do but endure the silence. Discussion was rare, because L was tense and there was little to talk about. The officers worked diligently, and at a stately pace.

L himself was counting the hours until his final two weeks were up, and he was due to surrender a note to that blasphemous creature that haunted him. It wasn't a matter of whether or not he would keep his end of the deal, just a matter of how soon his plan would take effect…which depended on when the Shinigami deemed it prudent to make an appearance. He was somewhere in the building, L knew, because he couldn't go far, for long.

The paper in L's hands whined as his fists clenched briefly, his temper flaring despite his self-control. He was a wreck, and he knew it…worse, the team knew it, and they were somehow managing to tolerate him…which usually only served to make him more irate, because it put emphasis on just how much of the problem was his fault. Dry remarks, bitter and morbid humor, and ceaseless barbed insults seemed to pepper his usual litanies. It was proving to be a problem because L was hardly a friendly person on any given day, and none of them liked to admit it, but the detective himself stressed the officers out almost as much as the case did.

He put the paper down firmly, smoothing the crumpled edges and refusing to acknowledge the curious stares he could feel on his back. This was becoming ridiculous.

The scent of decay wafted across the room, and he involuntarily tensed. It seemed that the file in his inbox had been there for days, mocking him. Merely hours, in reality…and now that it was time to use the tool, he found that no matter how late it happened…it would always be too early. The rustle of leathery skin and feathers only confirmed the presence of a death god, and L took a deep breath, his eyes again finding that tiny corner of his inbox.

And if he died doing this?

Well, at least he'd have denied Light the pleasure.

His chair creaked quietly as he turned, the looming figure in the corner immediately catching his attention. Eight feet tall and the picture of Death consigned to a body, Sidoh surveyed the room in silence, shuffling his wings. L cleared his throat, almost convinced that his team wouldn't be able to hear him over the roar of his own heartbeat. He almost couldn't hear himself.

"Gentleman, there is something we need to discuss."

"Have you found something?" Matsuda's voice was eager, but it was poisonous to the detective's ears. This was not going to be easy. Not in the least…but it was affection that got him into this mess, and if he had to forcibly dissociate himself now, then it was worth it. It was going to hurt like hell, but it was worth it…in the long run.

He desperately wanted to believe that. "No, I have not. There is a more pressing matter that needs to be addressed. One that I have put off for far too long, and is the direct source of our current Kira."

Sidoh was watching him carefully now, distrustful. He had every right to doubt.

"There are not two Death Notes currently in our realm, but three. The original note was stolen from another Death God by Ryuk, the Shinigami who gave it to Light. The original owner is present at the moment. If you would like to see him, you may touch the note."

"I'll pass." Matsuda bit off, returning to his papers for a second perusal. This, this betrayal…would be the fuel for the fire. There was little to be had in the way of realism when he was about to lose a friend. The other two remained silent, sensing that there was more to come…and there was no easier way to put this.

"Light Yagami was the original Kira."

Silence. Complete silence, and a glance between Mogi and Ide, but that was fine…they too had suspected Light at some point. Matsuda was staring at him, however, warm dark eyes betraying a shock that was quickly slipping into anger. Betrayal.

"That's not funny." Oh, but wasn't it? Really, in the long stretch of things, this was nothing more than a joke on the part of the Gods…an admitted _joke_, a _jest_, a _caper_ for a Death God's _amusement_. How could something meant to be frivolous cost these men so very much?

"I would not jest about something so terribly important." L stood and lifted his shirt revealing the three notes strapped to his stomach. "I have them here, and I have Light's confession, should you like to view it."

"I don't believe this. I can't-"

Mogi interrupted, cutting them both off. "What does this have to do with us? He's working with you, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is under surveillance, but I proved too lenient in my treatment of him." L muttered, and it hurt to say out loud. Liberation. The ripping of scars to be rid of poison, a _confession_…from the lips of the man that had perhaps, sinned more than Kira himself. The irony left a penny-bright taste on his tongue. "Because of this, the pages of a Note were used to create a third Kira, through use of the Shinigami Sidoh."

Matsuda's eyes would kill him. "Light is not Kira."

"He is. I am sorry for the deception."

"Why would you lie to me about this? Lie to Soichiro, to the rest of us?" Matsuda was on his feet, eyes hot as coals. Liberation. Truth in the lie. His eyes slid to Sidoh's briefly. Freedom in the lie…and L was such a fine liar.

"I didn't want to kill him." L said simply.

There was a moment of silence, absolute silence. Matsuda's fists shook at his sides, and he raked a hand over his face, turning away. L watched him, destroying a friendship to further his ends, again. It was becoming a habit.

Sidoh's hiss drew his eyes from the younger officer. "What are you doing, Lawliet?"

"Light Yagami is going to be executed in a few minutes." L kept his voice level, the lie smooth as silk on his tongue. Matsuda whipped around, pale. "I thought you would like to know."

"You just said you weren't going to kill him!" Matsuda's voice shook, a fine line appearing at the bridge of his nose in his rage…it reminded him of Light.

But this wasn't about Light, not really…this was about L. The old L. The man he used to be. This was what he needed to insure that…_Light_, would never happen again. That _no one_ could reach into his _soul_ and change him again.

Take him out, take him_out_, thorn by thorn.

"I said that I did not wish to." L's voice remained calm, infuriatingly calm. Locking it all away, because Matsuda would have found out eventually, but he needed the younger's man's temper to heighten things. At least it happened on L's terms…and proved useful, in the end. Mogi was beginning to look angry as well, and Ide merely glanced between the three of them, the only one in the room without a personal history with the boy. "It was not my decision."

"The hell it isn't! Stop it!"

"Matsuda!" Mogi, trying to calm him down.

"What, you're just going to let him kill Soichiro's son? Why are you doing this? He's Light!" Matsuda raged, pacing to keep from doing violence against the older detective. L took his words like tonic, using them to rebuild his walls, stone by stone, where Light had left him with dust….because Matsuda's words were meaningless…not like Light's at all. "You worked with him, you lived with him and you couldn't prove a damn thing, and now that you've messed up, that you can't handle it anymore, you're willing to use him as a scapegoat to-"

L watched his companion spout the random accusations, watched him grab at strings, and lifted his shirt again, pulling the original note out…and leaving Rem's, the only Note still attached to Light, pressed against his skin. "He is Kira."

The shinigami saw this.

"He is _Kira_, Matsuda. It's right here. I have an outline of his actions as Kira."

"He's _Light_." The man stopped, staring at L like he'd never seen him before, his voice quiet, sad. "You _know_ better."

"No. I apologize for the lie, but he is set to be executed in a few minutes. Please accept this." L tucked the other note back into the belted case, turning his eyes to the computer as he brought up his inbox.

The file opened into a video clip, depicting Light strapped to the same death bed Misa and Starling met their deaths in. Them and so many before…was he really any better?

To think other wise at this point was to court madness. He shut a steel gate on the thought.

The clip opened to show Watari going through the motions of preparing the injection. The final moment before death, staged to perfection, because hadn't they done this before? So many times before?

How did one _kill_ a _God_?

One _lied_.

L turned and met the shinigami's eyes. His companions saw nothing but an empty corner, but death itself was watching him now. Matsuda was staring at the screen in dull horror, his knuckles white on the back of the chair, but he'd served his purpose. He knew, in the end, that Light would be executed for his crimes, and he offered no further protest though the pain in his eyes was palpable. Mogi was stoic, his face set in stone, and L knew he'd damaged trust there as well, but this wasn't over…not quite yet.

On the screen, Watari tapped the syringe to rid it of potentially fatal bubbles, light glimmering through some unknown liquid. Light, thinner, paler, and trapped in darkness, stood with his back straight, his head up…nothing like Misa and the others. He was proud, even in the face of this…

Two obsidian gazes met over a table strewn with what amounted to L's life's work, the sheer labor-intensive trials imposed by a young man with a death god's toy.

Watari strapped the tourniquet to Light's arm.

L made his bluff.

"I will never give you a Death Note. Ever. When Light dies, his ownership will transfer to me, and all three will _remain_ with me. You will die."

A red glimmer appeared over the black eyes, and with a warning hiss, Sidoh spread his wings. "We had an agreement."

"I'm breaking it. Light dies in two minutes. There's nothing you can do."

The hiss grew into something short of a roar, the retched sound of glass ground away by stone, and L's blood ran cold.

"L Lawliet, you will die! Give me the Note!"

L couldn't breathe, didn't have the will power to inhale because he was forcing it all into his motion, forcing himself to turn away, to present his back to the demon.

"No."

Sidoh attacked. Instinctively, L dropped to the floor at the movement, crouching to curl around the notes strapped to his stomach, protecting them. He was counting on this, he'd been waiting for this, he'd….

He'd been unprepared for the sheer agony of a death god's claws upon his skin.

Cold, cold, such painful cold, spikes of ice raking through his flimsy shirt and there was a startled shout as blood spattered the floor. Not deep, not fatal, but how much was enough? How much did it take for the Shinigami laws to come into affect? How long?

How badly was he bleeding?

A second lash crossed the first, and his knuckles bleached to bone on his jeans.

The stark wave of dizziness told him that he was, in fact, bleeding rapidly, and he wasn't sure if that was his voice giving a hoarse cry of surprise or not but he could hardly hear it under the screeching demon above him. He imagined the sight of his back randomly exploding into carnage was enough to shock the others into stillness, but as light-headed as he was becoming, he found the thought rather amusing…a damn hilarious image, really.

His dementia was cut short when what felt like a clawed hand reached _through_ his chest.

He glanced down and stared at the long black talons, glimmering dully as the death god phased through his chest cavity and wrapped its hand around the Death Notes. L couldn't scream, but surely, that sound was his mind shattering, falling to pieces because how could the human mind_tolerate_ such a sight? Glistening demonic talons, ripping through his shirt, appearing through his skin, and there was no blood, no _blood_!

In that moment, L Lawliet, for all his genius, was insane…dementedly insane.

Cold like nothing he'd ever experienced laced through his veins like a bad wine, sharp as a blade's edge, and God is _this_ what dying felt like? Is _this_ what he had to look forward to?

He felt the notebooks begin to dissolve away, their solid form reacting to the touch of their master and shifting into nothing, pulling away from him.

Dear God, if Sidoh died now, they'd solidify in L's _chest_.

There were hands on him, rough, violent hands snatching him away, and the coldness that leapt right through his heart might as well have been solid. The notes came away in Sidoh's hand, his hiss triumphant, but they couldn't see, couldn't hear, and oh god, he was _bleeding_.

Matsuda dropped him, stumbled and in L's broken thoughts, he could hear the sound of his blood pattering to the floor like rain, felt it wet and slick on his skin. It came away on Matsuda's hands. He was cold.

The Notes…

He uncurled long enough to wrench himself around on the floor, heaving for air denied him by dementia and shock, desperately trying to get to the notes. The rattle of gunfire made him jump, but Sidoh merely stared at him, his fanged mouth slightly agape as he stared through the detective. His eyes flickered to his own claws, the bloody imprints on black covers and white pages a stark contrast of color.

He shivered violently, a harsh twist of the shoulders, and then his wings fell apart, bloody feathers and black gore drifting to the ground. A cry of anguish racked his large frame, and the eight foot tall immortal began to curl in on himself, the scent of rotted meat and hot sand suddenly three-fold in intensity.

Spots flickered in front of the detective's eyes, tiny stars of light.

Slowly, so slowly it seemed, the god began to decay, the millennia's worth of ancient magic and ill will that held it together failing. Chunks of rotted flesh fell to the floor wetly, and disappeared, leaving a scent so bitter and strong it left a foul taste in L's mouth.

The Notes fluttered to the floor as Sidoh began to scream in earnest, his harsh cries a solid assault on L's already tortured thoughts…

He'd hear those screams until the day he died.

How does one _kill_ a _God_?

Heat, blessed warmth where none could ever again reach him, washed over L's frame and dimly, beneath the screaming he could hear a small bell-like tone…something ethereal and quiet.

As he lay panting on the floor, blood seeping under his cheek and someone's coat being pressed to his back to staunch the wounds, he swore he heard Death.

His black eyes blinked slowly, carefully, and there, flickering in and out of his vision was…something surreal, was…another god of Death…._The_ god of death.

White, so very white, his hand on Sidoh's forehead as he administered discipline to his wayward child.

Death was white.

The last thing L heard as the world disappeared was his own maniacal laughter.


	24. A Breaking Point

AN- O.o Wow, people, _breathe_. No killing of the Kani, kay? This chapter is actually the tail-end of the last...I edited it down because it was huge, and this is not Of Music, I'm sorry. Very, Very important chapter. Enjoy...kind of...

XXXX

L opened his eyes almost warily, but the light was invasive and sharp. After his eyes adjusted he recognized the faint scent of antiseptic and hospital sheets. It pulled him the rest of the way from his drug-induced stupor.

He shifted, and his back locked immediately, a burning pain radiating from what felt like sutures and his wounds. The pain was merely an echo of what it had been before, but it was enough that he stilled, his breath coming in soft pants.

The dark blur across the room came into focus, and the last person he'd wanted to see when he woke was Touta Matsuda, but that's who was staring at him from the chair at the foot of his bed. He supposed the Gods had a sadistic sense of humor.

He opened his mouth, but the younger officer cut him off.

"They're safe."

The Notes remained free then. A burden he hadn't realized he was carrying seemed to lift from his shoulders, and he closed his eyes again for a moment sighing. Matsuda continued staring at him, hands clasped before his lips in a pose so similar to Light's that it was scary to witness. L dropped his eyes, looking away.

"You died." Matsuda stated simply, his eyes hard as stone. L's brow furrowed, but he hadn't quite gotten his tongue working yet.

"You died. Pronounced dead upon arrival…they spent thirty minutes trying to resuscitate you. It took two blood transfusions to get you stable enough to handle the surgery required to close your spine up. You died."

L's eyes rose to meet his again briefly, the full meaning of that statement finally sinking in. He'd been gone…dead. He'd cheated Death.

He recalled the white figure and shivered. No, no Death had pardoned him, allowed him to go free. There was no cheating the Shinigami King. Matsuda leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head, watching the detective coldly.

"And I suggest you explain to me just what the hell happened back at headquarters, or I'm out."

Whatever control L had mustered over his linguistics immediately fled. That was, perhaps, the only course of action he wasn't prepared to handle. L would rather have Matsuda shoot him than leave the taskforce, but there was a solid confidence in the man's eyes that told him he'd crossed too many lines for that now.

L held up his hand entreatingly, asking for a moment to gather his thoughts, and Matsuda shrugged, gesturing him on sarcastically. It took a minute for the tightness in his throat to ease up, and his words were disgustingly sluggish to his own ears. "Let me start by saying that Light is alive and well-"

Matsuda twitched, making a violent gesture to cut him off. "No. No, we're not discussing that right now. Just…no."

"Very well then." L licked his dry lips and pushed his thoughts into a new order, working around the morphine in his system. "I needed the shinigami Sidoh dead. He was the original owner of the first Death Note to come to our realm. A few months ago, he managed to hunt Light down and demanded the note back. By then the ownership had passed to me.

"Light and I were investigating the notes at the time, working between cases to learn as much as we could about them. Sidoh was…stupid, and usable. We kept him close with a promise to give him a note when his life span reached a dangerous level, in exchange for him teaching us about the notes and not stealing them."

Matsuda was still watching him with an unreadable expression. The effort it took to keep his eyes open no longer seemed worth it, so L rested his head back on the pillow and talked quietly. "I would not give him the note…I'm not sure when I decided that, perhaps even before I made the promise, but I would never allow them to leave my sight again."

That sounded almost defensive. The realization made him frown.

"Light manipulated Sidoh into giving Death Note pages to someone. I'm not sure who but that's how the news broke. Things have become more and more difficult ever since. I needed to simplify things."

"Any particular reason you decided to pull that stunt with the video?"

"…I have been studying Sidoh as well as the notes." L's voice quieted a bit more as he reflected on his last few months of work. "We learned that the Shinigami realm has a set of laws, the most extreme levels of which include fatal forms of punishment. To kill a human is considered worthy of the extreme level, and there is no surviving it. To attack a human is considered a third level offense, still fatal, but there's less…pain involved, I believe. The trouble with killing shinigami is that they are immortal, and therefore incredibly patient."

"I can't see something that old getting annoyed easily either."

L smirked, watching the colors dancing behind his eyelids. "No. They don't. I noticed that Sidoh tended to become nervous whenever humans made a display of temper. I gathered that he was unused to such behavior, seeing how uncommon it must be amongst his own kind. Light and I…fought heavily towards the end of his confinement, and Sidoh always avoided us during and after. He was almost skittish."

"I should have been paying attention, however…," L muttered darkly, "Light was probably compassionate with him, working on that bond while I was still blindsided by my own problems."

"Get on with it."

"I had two weeks left before my deadline. Sidoh was under a great amount of stress, and so was I. It was…a rash plan, compared to my past endeavors, but effective. I knew that you would react poorly to the news…and in truth, it bothered me greatly to continue to lie to you, and trying to keep up the pretense of Light's innocence was exhausting me."

"So you used me to get a rise out of him."

"Yes, I needed a catalyst, and sadly, I've always found that real pain is much more stunning that any act…and while you are talented enough to fake your own death, I was betting everything on that one shot, and I couldn't afford the added risk. Light is alive, but he is Kira, and he will be executed eventually."

"Why are you keeping him alive?"

"Because I can't kill him." L chuckle carried no laughter. "Only god knows why…"

They were quiet for a long moment before Matsuda stood and took his keys from his pocket. He came to stand at the edge of L's bed, and the detective opened his eyes to look at him. It was surprising, to stop and look at what had been the real driving force behind the secondary investigation, and realize that the younger man was so tired. There were lines on his face that no one so young should carry. The pang of guilt sounded in his chest, a sharp chord that made him want to look away again. He forced himself to take this, because in some way he needed this too.

Matsuda had once accused him of working when he already knew the answer to the mystery. That was entirely true. He knew that Light was Kira, furthermore, knew why and how and when, and the Kira case was solved. This entire problem was a direct result of him failing himself, and allowing his strict moral code to waver.

Ironic really, that in the end, it was Matsuda that took the brunt of his fall, instead of Watari or Light. Ironic, that he was the only one left that was capable of understanding just what had gone wrong in the first place, and that L had hidden it from him because he couldn't quite accept it himself.

Because Matsuda knew, didn't he?

The insightful younger mind watched him carefully, and he remembered, a long long time ago, being amazed not by this inferior intellect, but this superior heart. Matsuda had floored both he and Light Yagami, left them searching for words that didn't exist, because he was right…they were different. There were no words to describe how, and no efficient way to make themselves more acceptable. In the end, they suffered for their gifts, as they always had, and as they always would…and Matsuda understood that.

The question now, was whether or not he was capable of forgiving the detective. It was a not a matter of why, but merely whether or not L had pushed him too far this time, if his mistakes rendered him so far gone that he was beyond redemption.

It was terrifying, really, to be judged.

The words left his lips unbidden. "I owe you nothing."

A pitiful attempt to shield himself from scrutiny, shove his mask back into place and never come out again. It was a flat line in the arc of his life, quite possibly his lowest point yet, to consider himself subordinate to this younger detective, to await his judgment like he had no others.

No, like he had one other's.

And hadn't Light found him guilty of all charges? Guilty of as much, if not more injustice than Kira himself? Guilty for lying to the people, for murder, for false justice…for wearing his ideal like a costume to be donned and stripped when the occasion arose. Was not L himself accused of using righteous vindication to justify his every move, absolve himself of guilt…because he served an idea…and ideas were immortal.

Such a cheap way to keep himself alive.

His brother in sin had condemned him, to his face and publicly through another's lips.

With that thought on his mind, L found himself unable to bear the weight of Matsuda…unable to face the Common Man.

Irony would kill him where Sidoh had failed.

Perhaps this was just a way of gracing himself with an answer, because in truth, he knew before Matsuda did what his decision would be. His choice to stay would mean that L had a friend, one worth having this time around, and he would continue to wage the war against Kira with every scrap of soul he had left…that Light hadn't take from him.

His decision to leave, however…would certainly be the more lucrative.

If Matsuda left, then L would have succeeded in driving off another distraction, another tie, and in short…another weakness. If Matsuda left, L would continue to wage war against Kira with every scrap of his intellect, and if experience proved him right, his intellect had always been the more powerful weapon.

After all…L Lawliet was only human…

L was something else entirely.

Perhaps he was just a coward, incapable of making the choice himself anymore. Yes, if Light were here, that would likely be his remark, that L was forcing the decision onto Matsuda's shoulders because he couldn't handle it himself. He would laugh and point out how far gone L really was; that he had come to this. He'd laugh and say he'd won.

This wasn't about Light anymore.

Thorn by thorn, L was ripping him out.

Luckily for him, Matsuda made the right decision.

"I'll finish out the two weeks that you had left to Sidoh. Then I'm leaving the Taskforce. I can't work with you anymore…I can't trust you."

"I see." L nodded once, mind racing. "I shall arrange for a new identity to be made for you, and you may continue your life as you choose. I thank you for your work…we would not be where we are had you not been there, Matsuda-san."

"We'd have been a lot further by now, if you'd had your head in the right place."

That hung between them, bladed and sharp and beautiful. The Common Man, at least, knew L's place…under heel.

"How much time have we lost?" L eventually asked, licking his dry lips.

"Three days. The sutures need to set and antibiotics need to be prescribed. You'll be out of here in two days more."

There was another quiet moment, full of the sudden silence between estranged people, the silence that only accompanies a _deserved_ distance. Matsuda's eyes shifted to the door and hovered there. L thumb came to his lips, trailing an I.V. cord.

"How bad is it?"

"I wouldn't say you were horribly disfigured, but…it's pretty bad."

"I see." L's eyes were unfocused anyway, so he closed them, warding off a slight spin the room had begun. "I remember there being quite a lot of blood."

"We managed to contact Watari and get you discreetly to a nearby hospital. I'm not sure what he did, but they're not asking many questions. There was a hell of a lot of blood, L…you died."

"I wonder what my lifespan reads now…"

"You know…that was a rather strange question coming from you…about the damage, I mean."

"You think so?"

Matsuda nodded, thumbing through his keys idly. "Yes…I didn't have you pegged as the type to worry about your physical appearance."

"I am not. I just find it ironic that this happened."

"Why's that?"

"Not long ago, I made the remark to Watari that if nothing else, the Kira case would be a beautiful scar."

XXXX


	25. Would you call me God?

AN- Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I had the most God awful writer's block with this scene! It was just...unbelievable! And it's soooo important...I fully credit my friend **Nilahxapiel **for this chapter. Without her constant encouragement, and poking, I don't think I could have gotten this done. Throw me a bone so I know I'm forgiven, please. I feel so terrible.

That being said...Um...I'm sorry. I'm _so, damn, sorry_. You'll see. Now, let's watch someone go crazy, shall we?

Step Lightly,

Kani

XXXX

It was a rare instance, at first, that the flashing fire of hatred wound its way through Light's soul and robbed him of his common sense. A moment, a brief exhale, and then his humanity would return to him, unscathed. It was a brief, fleeting thing, the rage that sent his heart into his ears and colored a fine line across the bridge of his nose so thoroughly unfamiliar that at times…Light didn't even acknowledge it.

It usually happened in the second that his eyes were granted light again, when the pain of it was most intense, so harsh that he hardly felt the cuffs shifting. It came when the light went away, and the headset sealed his ears, the silence returning with a gentle vacuum of air.

Hatred was petty. Hatred was for weaker men, a flaw, and a crack in the chiseled stone casing of his soul that simply could not be tolerated. It was a human trait, something so far beneath him that he didn't dare accept for what it was.

It came like the strike of a whip (_a ringing backhand_). It was the twist of a thorn in his side, much like the damn chair that he spent the majority of his days in. It was a rip, a tear in the fabric of his sanity. In the void of the blindfold and the deafening silence, it sifted into a diamond-like clarity that could not, would not, just _refused_ to go away.

So Light grudgingly admitted that…just every now and then…he hated Watari.

The blinds went on, the blinds went off. Days passed.

XXXX

It wasn't enough to warrant his attention, hardly enough to voice, and never, ever, enough to take into consideration with his plans. It was not hatred…just annoyance, irritation at the most. It came and went with the sensory blinds, and occasionally cast itself grudgingly into the corners of his thoughts when the man chained him to a support beam in the living room for his two hour's exercise. There wasn't anything to blame it on, aside from sheer boredom, and his over abundance of spite. It was a natural reaction to finding himself at the mercy of a man that would sooner kill him than look at him. That's what he told himself, when Watari returned him to the chair, and lifted the Velcro blindfold.

…But it was so petty. So human.

Two weeks gone, spent in a cycle of wasted time, light and dark. The blinds came and went.

XXXX

They said that pity bred contempt, and as a God rising to power, he hardly found it _charming_ when the old fool stared at him, such pity in his eyes. Contempt was painted over every muscle of his face like the heartache that Light himself denied he was feeling.

The hatred never helped…he would never say that it _helped_. It merely filled the void…hours stretched into eternity in the black, and when the blinds came off; he allowed himself the hatred because there…just, _there _in that moment…he was complete again. He didn't dare try to comprehend the relief the emotion provided him. Hatred, while human, and petty, was also powerful.

The blinds went on, and the blinds went off.

XXXX

It was so quiet. He lost track of the hours he'd been counting…a long time ago. Time was an immortal thing now, a beast that he dared not court. It didn't matter, because it bent and fractured, and he was too damn tired to keep up with it.

The blinds went on, the blinds went off.

He did not _miss_ L.

Even with almost month of absolute, infallible silence under his belt, Light did not _miss_ L. He might have missed the interaction that L provided, the company, the contact (_the power_)…and even their unyielding walls gave him more to think about than his days of stark nothings and cold exchanges afforded him by the man's servant. The man himself, however? No…Light missed the world. He missed life itself.

The truth of it was that Light felt he was beginning to go a little crazy, trapped in his unending cycle of nothing…knowing that somewhere, out of reach, out of _grasp_, L might be unraveling all his plans. Paranoia made a nest in his thoughts and randomly plucked at his mind, making him tense in his chair and waste necessary energy. It left him exhausted, sick of the silence, and of nothing. It annoyed him to no end to have nothing else to think about, but damn it, it'd been too _long_. He should have heard something by now. He was counting on Takada to hold on a bit longer, until he managed to escape…a task that he'd thought would be easier with L half a world away.

The hours he spent chained to his chair, however, told him differently.

He felt completely useless, trapped and running in circles, afraid to take the next step because he needed reassurance. He needed to _know_.

He did not _miss_ L.

The blinds went on, the blinds came off.

Sometimes….

XXXX

L.

L, L_, L_…the bastard, his name wasn't even long enough to justify cursing with. It rolled silently from his tongue in the dark hours he spent in his cell, his mouth working aimlessly as the pain in his neck grew, and the muscles stiffened to a point that sleep was impossible. Or perhaps, he was speaking out loud…he couldn't tell anymore. L.

L…

It echoed dimly in his thoughts in the hours he spent above ground, in Watari's presence. There, he didn't dare open his mouth, but his tongue still made the motion, touching the back of his teeth lightly.

_L_.

Always L…mocking him, waiting patiently to come back and tell him that it'd all gone wrong.

Come back to _kill him_, his mind supplied, and Light smirked into the nothing, because that was absurd…but still….

A month, he waited in silence, not _knowing_.

The blinds came off. The blinds went on.

XXXX

There came a time when he woke to find himself upon the death bed. He knew by his position and binding exactly what table he was strapped to. He said nothing…he didn't turn his head at all, paralyzed by the thought that…just perhaps…he'd lost.

It was…humbling, to say the least.

Had L won? Had L finally _(come to kill him)_ overpowered him at last? Had he worked around the chains Light had spent so long putting in place…the chains that L himself put the lock on the night in his cell?

He'd struck him, made Light powerful. Slapped him like hatred.

Wait, that didn't make any sense. He ignored the thought.

They'd spent a moment, he remembered, an eternity, staring each other _(death)_ in the eye. They'd taken a minute to understand how much they'd changed. Just before he'd gotten up and walked away. So far away that Light couldn't control him, and perhaps…just perhaps…out of his reach. He'd lost, then.

Regardless. _(The fucking blinds went on….)_

Watari hadn't had the nerve to warn him that he was about to die. Where was his preacher, his lawyer? Where was his final meal, his final bath, his will? The man was going to kill him. Just…let him die. The blinds went on, and the blinds came off, and Watari was…Watari was going to…but _why_?

Would the blinds come off to reveal L at the table, Death Note in hand?

Light felt that something was ready to snap as he hung there, suspended in the air by thick canvas straps that held him so tightly, so coldly, in place…to await his death. The death of a God.

How does one kill a God?

That final, fractured piece of thought, a bit of soul-glass lodged itself somewhere in his conscious thought and oh, his mind bled. That question, that damn _question_, and he thought he knew the answer once…to walk away, like _L_ had, to leave him without closure, to _kill_ him without ever putting him to _rest_. He didn't _know_. He needed to _know_.

…And it was there, hanging upon the table, that he realized he was going die like _Misa_.

Like Misa.

….And…L was his Light. Something, some vital piece of his logic, shattered at that realization, and when the needle pierced his skin, he said nothing…he made no sound.

…But in the depths of his soul, he was screaming at the irony.

_Why_? How did one kill a _God_?

No one answered.

He waited…thirty seconds, forty, a minute…two…he gasped for air that he was not being denied, breathing slowly, evenly, deeply, his final breaths, because he knew that eventually…another would not come.

The _blinds_ came _off_.

"_It was merely a B12 shot, Kira. L needed the video footage for one of his plans."_

And oh, sometimes…just _sometimes_…he _hated_ Watari.

XXXX

L called.

L called, and that was the final suture in the wounds that Light was nursing. He heard the voice from a distance, because Watari was deaf in one ear, and kept his cell on speaker phone. He was standing, shirtless, in the living room while he stretched, leashed to his pole _(like a dog, a fucking dog!)_, and allowed his exercise.

He froze, balanced on one foot while he pulled the other up to stretch his aching knee, and listened. There wasn't much to work with; just a faint mutter, but he knew that voice. He knew it well.

Staring up at the loft, Light got the insane notion that L had returned _(come to kill him)_, and Watari was hiding him from the young god. He felt hatred slap him again, and for a moment…a brief moment, he _hated_ Watari.

It was just that broken piece of his mind, however…he felt it like a paper cut whenever he thought about the old man. He shoved it to the background. The damage that his supposed brush with death merely days ago had caused, was similar to the flap of skin on a fresh wound that one hasn't the heart to tear away. He was drawing parallels in his thoughts, lines that didn't matter, and he knew it.

Light felt that sometimes he might have gone a little crazy.

So, Light shoved that momentary insanity away with an annoyed shake of the head, and stood in the floor, listening to the voice he'd waiting _(wanting)_ to hear for over a month.

But for now, at least, he was still capable of shoving that violent pain into the back of his thoughts…for now.

He was still standing there, staring at nothing, when Watari came downstairs.

The blinds went on.

XXXX

It hadn't taken much.

It hadn't taken much, not at all.

Light now regarded the prone figure on the floor before him with a kind of lost confusion. The old man's ribcage rose and fell, labored breaths of a pain that Light couldn't imagine holding him firmly to this world…to Light's world. The cut at the base of his skull bled, but not too much. Just enough. He'd calculated everything, the angle, the stroke _itself_ was measured. He didn't want Watari dead.

It hadn't taken much…oh no, not at all.

Because sometimes…just sometimes….

XXXX

L glanced over sharply as his cell phone began to ring. His mouse moved towards the clock at the bottom of his screen and he marked with a frown that it was still daytime in England. His current residence was well into its night hours, however. His eyes traveled uneasily to the phone again, though he made no move to pick it up.

He and Watari had parted on… professional terms.

If it were a normal call, to check on the case or give him an update of some kind, Watari wouldn't have waited until now. He would have called when L still had the entire team at his disposal, and his Japanese counterparts were capable of acting quickly on the information. He probably wouldn't have waited at all, unless it was something that L couldn't give to the team.

…Something about Light.

That being the current question, did he really want to answer?

It was just Watari. He shouldn't be afraid of Watari, no matter how difficult things between them became. Annoyed with himself, he blinked once and snatched the cell up as the final ring ended. A careful flick of his wrist, and the cool metal rested against his ear as he returned his attention to his work.

"Hello?"

"Sometimes, I hate Watari."

The words upon his screen blurred.

XXXX

"Light?" A thrill went through him at the detective's tone, hesitant…almost afraid. It'd been too long.

"Yes." There was no point in denying it…the old man lay bleeding on the floor at Light's feet. The cuff that had held him to the wooden beam now held him, instead of Light. The end table that used to reside by the couch still lay on its side a few feet away, the corner glimmering damply with blood. It had been hard to swing it, because he was so much weaker now. But it hadn't taken much. "It's me."

There was a moment of silence, and Light chuckled darkly…a broken sound to his own ears, but he supposed it was appropriate. He felt rather broken. "Don't bother with the hostage negotiations, L. He's alive."

"Watari lives?"

"Sometimes I hate him."

"Light, you've said that already."

"I hate it when you correct me." Light stood, running a hand through his hair. His eyes stayed on the figure before him, untrusting even in light of the crimson pool gathering beneath Watari's hair.

"It's just not like you to repeat yourself." L's voiced sounded forced…almost hollow. "What have you done to him?"

Light smirked to himself, setting off aimlessly down the hall. "Why don't you pull up the cameras and find out?"

"…Just tell me."

"I might have concussed him… you remember the end tables in the living room?"

"…Yes."

"I threw one at him." Light wandered past the workroom, where he'd spent so long staring at the back of Watari's head. "He fell down. He's breathing however."

What was he looking for? He leaned in the door way and stared over the tables, fingering the keys in his hand. It was a small ring, with five keys upon it…something familiar to him. He'd often seen it hanging from Watari's belt. One of them opened the handcuffs, another, the cell. That left three more to play with.

"What are you doing, Light?"

"Did you miss me, L? You've been gone a long time, you know. What have you been up to?"

"…Light."

"Talk to me, L. That's all I want." He ducked and looked beneath the bed, eyes lighting up as he was presented with a safe.

"I have killed Sidoh."

Light paused in his dragging of the metal box, surprised. "You killed him?"

"Yes."

"Did he hurt you?"

"Yes."

Light smiled. "Did you deserve it?"

"Light, I don't see the point in opening that." A new note of tension entered the detective's voice, and Light twisted around to grin at the camera in the corner.

"I see you, too." He set the phone and key ring on the floor and braced his feet upon the bed frame, pulling the box out. He could hear L saying something from the floor beside him but he ignored him, cursing his lack of strength when the heavy thing only shifted in inches. Finally, the safe cleared the frame, leaving gouges in the wooden floorboards. The silver keyhole and number lock glinted dully in the lamp light.

He picked the cell phone and keys up again, smirking. "Look what I found."

"Light, he's bleeding. You left him…" Yes, the tension was definitely up in that normally composed voice. It made him shiver.

"Shh…it's fine." He tried a key. "He'll be okay."

Perhaps it was his tone, but the detective's sudden silence made him pause. "Light, stop."

"Ah, you would like that wouldn't you? What were you thinking L? Leaving an old, decrepit man to watch Kira like that…I'm a _god_." He tried the second key and the lock clicked open. He reached inside, feeling blindly through a stack of cash, documents…

"You're not a god."

His hand closed around something cold, and metallic. He brought the pistol out and stared at it…dim recognition lit his features. It was the same pistol that L had pulled on him all those months ago in his training. The memory of it made him smile. "This is yours, isn't it, L?"

Silence on the other end of the line. He went fishing again and brought out a fully loaded clip. The bullets glinted from their casing, gold-toned and the smell…the smell reminded him of Sidoh. The scent of death was in the gun-oil. It made him grin.

Yes, Light felt pretty broken right now.

"Light, put that away."

"It is yours." The pieces slid together with the click of a well preserved machine, mechanical and efficient. He glanced into the safe and found a plastic bag with his personal affects in it…his wallet, his watch…his clothes. He dumped it on the floor and instead filled the bag with cash. He didn't bother with the documents…they were likely of no use to him, or wouldn't be if he were on the run. Done, he closed his little treasure chest. "You're very quiet L. Almost a month…surely you have something to talk about. What did Sidoh do to you?"

"He clawed my back. The damage put me in the hospital for a few days."

Light closed his eyes and took a deep breath, suddenly very, very jealous. "How terrible."

"Light, what are you doing?"

"I'm leaving."

"Why did you call me? I know to look for you, now."

Why had he called? Light didn't remember, really. He picked the bag and gun up and headed for the door. He could see the body in the living room.

Not a body yet… if the man were still alive, that is.

Oh yes…that's why he'd called. "I had a question, actually. You see, I'm rather confused right now. I believe two months is all I can take of solitary confinement before I decide to get out."

"Yes, that seems to be the extent of your tolerance."

"You would know, wouldn't you?" Light made his way back into the living room, his bare feet almost silent in the hall. The old man was still bleeding, his hair encrusted with a crimson and black stain. Light hadn't called L right away. He'd let it sink in that he'd just…done the first violence of his life. The first, real, honest violence…he'd hurt someone with the intent to kill.

"Light?"

"Hmm?"

"Your question?" The detective's voice wavered slightly, betraying him.

"Do I have your attention?" Light glanced at the camera in the opposite corner of the room, mounted level with the ceiling. "Who am I talking to?"

Silence…then quietly "Me."

"You?"

"…Me."

"Good." Light righted the table he'd thrown and leaned on it, staring into the ruddy, wrinkled face on the floor. "Do you want to know what I thought about when I hit him?"

L sounded drunk. "What did you think about, Light?"

"I asked myself if a God would do this." Light's voice took on a slightly distant quality as he replayed the scene in his head.

The table hadn't weighed much, but it'd been hard to lift. Watari had been walking by, reading a file, unaware that Light had spent the last twenty minutes trying to hook his foot around the table leg to bring it into reach. He'd been so careless. There'd been a sickening crunch as it connected with flesh and bone, and man had dropped to the ground without a word or cry.

There was a bloody trail from where Light had to drag him close enough to the get the keys and move the cuff.

The smear was black now, almost dry.

"A God wouldn't. You're not a God."

"Don't interrupt me." The man fell quiet and Light braced his elbow on his knees, staring at the gun in his hands. "Sometimes I really hate Watari. It's not something I can help at this point."

"I understand." Tension…and now fear. It was almost arousing, hearing that underneath his words.

"No, No you don't. He's been putting those damn blindfolds on me for two months now, L."

Silence.

"And I started hating him. I have a right to hate him. He's…defying me. Sinning, if you will."

"Light, you're NOT a god!"

"It's in your best interest to stop saying that. If I'm not a God, then I'm human, and I'm going to kill him." Light muttered quietly. "It's a simple fact at this point. I hate him, L. He faked my death…granted on your orders, but I'll deal with you later. He didn't bother to tell me it was a hoax until I was holding my breath and waiting on my heart to stop. Am I a God or not, L?"

"Light…don't do this."

"I hate him. I can't…help it." Light tilted his head to the side, eyeing the camera quietly, the gun loose in his hand. "And when he wakes up, he's going to be after me. You can't do it yourself, and you know it. I'm safer if he's dead."

"…Light, you can't…you can't _murder_ him. Are you insane?"

"Yes. And whose fault is that? He shoved a needle in my arm, L. I didn't get a courtesy meal or priest…I thought he was going to _kill_ me. I _hate_ him."

"Light, don't…"

"I hate him, L. So much."

"You hate me too."

Light's tone was silken, his mind strangely blank. "And I'll get to you, eventually."

"What do you want?"

That was the question, wasn't it? The slow rise and fall of the man's chest was hypnotic, and he watched it, unable to look away. It was life…beating there beneath the gentleman's vest.

"I'm a god, L. I don't want anything."

L said nothing, and Light licked his lips. Sometimes…just sometimes….

He needed to go…get as far as he could as quickly as he was capable. For all he knew, L had already called the board, or Wedy, or _someone_.

So…he asked his question.

"Would you call me God, L?"

Silence, nothing but the sound of quiet breathing filtering over the speaker.

He clicked the safety off and sighed.

The pistol rose.

L panicked. "Light! Stop!"

"I'll get to you eventually."

"LIGHT!"

"Shh…."

The shot was loud. It was raw, real, completely, irrevocably definite. The back of Watari's head exploded in a rain of crimson; blood, flesh and bone painting a swathe across the floor in a widening arc. Blood and fragments of his teeth fell from his slightly parted lips, the hole in his cheek garishly bright. The breathing stopped.

It just…stopped.


	26. To Rise Above

AN- To answer the questions, Yes, I do have a plot, actually. A complicated one. If you've missed something, PM me, and I'll go over it with you, mmkay? As it stands, I've made a plot-outline (So that I may keep up with my own story, sadly), and there's roughly ten chapters left. Roughly...Meaning that unless something goes very wrong, or very right, this story will be ending soon. Lots of twisty turns. So...enjoy this one, and thanks for sticking around! -Kani

XXXX

Blood pooled beneath his toes, slowly growing wider as the shot replayed itself over in his head. In his thoughts, it was still echoing through the rafters, contained forever; trapped beneath the wooden confines of his home and prison. If he stared hard enough, Light could still see the rise and fall of his chest, the figment proof of his shattered imagination. There weren't words to describe that deafening silence, both in the cottage, and in his mind.

Watari's corpse lay cooling at his feet, and Light's humanity died with him.

And what a paradox that was. With all the finesse of a bullet's ricochet, his conscience ripped him neatly in half. Suppose that, for just a moment, he took L's philosophy into consideration. Leaning, there against the table, this seemed an easy enough task considering that L had been screaming it at him right up until (he pulled the trigger) Watari's death. According to L, a god wouldn't have done this. According to L, murder was a humane thing, a taint restricted to darker aspects of the human soul.

In killing Watari, according to L, Light had sealed himself into the corrupted, rotting masses that he strove to cleanse. According to L, the blood that was still emanating from the stilled heart before him was upon his hands, his conscience, forever. According L…Light was human, a child playing a God's game.

The thought struck him cold to the bone, made the hair on his arms stand straight with unadulterated paranoid loathing. No…No, Kira was not human. Kira was beyond human…because just like L, Kira was an idea.

Kira was…powerful.

But standing there, with blood congealing beneath his feet, and the smell of (Death) gun smoke in his nose, there was no God present. There wasn't any God at all…none but the one he was staring at…

Nothing but Death.

In that moment, Light could not aspire to overcome _Death_. No, no more than the ringing in his ears that told him Death had touched him, even in passing. The high pitched whine spoke of dying cells in his ears, nerves severed by the trauma of a close-range gunshot.

Death infected him.

In the face of _(that face)_ Watari, Light felt more human than he ever had in his life. Perhaps it was liberation of sorts, to know in these few moments of silence that he was nothing more than the Common Man, and he could never hope to be more than that. Perhaps it was humbling, to know that in the end, he would be just a corpse as well…as cold and still as the one before him.

He wasn't sure when the gun and phone clattered to the ground, but he felt himself follow suit. His knees hit the floor as, for the first time in his life; Light Yagami knelt before a deity with a pious soul. Death (lay) stood before him, and that…that was the only God that Light Yagami would ever answer to.

Ever.

He knelt beside (the corpse) Watari, and found himself without breath. There weren't words to describe the disgust, the horror, the sensation of his mind splitting in half, but in the light of that closed-eye stare, Light felt himself breaking even further. There was truth here, unadulterated, unclouded truth. This was clarity of a kind that he would likely never find again.

With trembling fingers, he reached and gently tilted the chin up, to look the old man in the face. The head was lighter than it should have been, moved with the easy grace that only the dead can achieve. Blood stained his fingers from the slightly parted lips, but whereas moments ago, any thought of the man himself had disgusted Light…he found he didn't mind. There was something intimate about his victim, something that Light hadn't shared with anyone, not anyone at all.

Not even…him.

In this moment of peace, there was nothing forbidden, while Death stood over his shoulder and watched its child take up the scythe, if only for a moment.

To describe it as a presence…would diminish the aspect, the sheer power that encompassed the room. With hands as gentle as a lover's, Light pulled an eyelid open to look the old man in the eye.

The steely blue-grey lolled to the side, floating freely in the wake of a tendon-shattering bullet. The pupil remained dilated, and the white was interlaced with crimson spots of blood-trauma.

Watari was no longer there.

Light looked Death in the eye for three seconds before the peace fled and the icy horror returned en masse. In the seconds it took for his soul to make contact with the empty place where another's should have been, the room came to a different clarity, a colder, harder, unforgiving shift in reality that he could not fathom, let alone endure. He looked Death in the eye, and the blood on his fingers became warm and tacky, the head supported there, sickeningly light and empty. The flesh beneath his fingertips became limp, sallow with the want of blood, and as the first tendrils of nausea swept over his weakened body, Light tore himself away from the corpse. He made it four feet from the (eye) cadaver, before he lost control and retched.

In the depths of his mind, he swore he heard Death laughing…

Or maybe that was just L.

His stomach worked for eight minutes to turn itself inside out, all his strength leaving him in those few torrid gasps of misery. When he regained himself and turned back to the body, Death was gone, leaving him with the distinct, profound knowledge that he, Light Yagami, could lift the scythe in the end.

But he could not wield it.

No, no, Death had shown him, just as it had nearly two years ago in that corner store, what it meant to _wield_ the scythe. Even now, staring at the slightly pudgy, old, _broken_ body a few feet away, Light remembered the sound of metal upon metal and the squeal of tires as his first kill lost his life. The scent of burnt rubber and hair, and the girl screaming…screaming so loudly, like the ringing in his ears, oh, that screaming…

Light didn't stop until he was hoarse, and even then, he wasn't sure a single sound had passed his lips. All he knew was that he lay upon his side, his throat aching as he watched the crimson ring creep closer. How much blood was in the human body? How, much, _blood_?

No. No more.

Watari (not Watari) lay there, unmoving, and no matter how terrified Light himself might have been, he knew in the darker corners of his genius that the man would never, move, again. He would not blink, twitch, kick, inhale, or hand a fucking cup of tea to anyone, ever, again.

Light pulled himself over to the table and crouched against it, arms around his knees.

It was at this point in time that his mind took over.

The only, infallible, insufferable quality of genius was that it was similar to gunpowder in its function. When put under pressure, Light found that it went one of two ways. It would either break down, too crushed to maintain its own weight, and then explode into nonsense that was of no use to anyone...or it burned straight, and steady, like a candle in the dark.

Light _decided_ that it was going to be the latter case. As he bit his forearm to ground himself in the here and now, he stared at (Watari) the corpse, and tried to makes sense of himself. He wasn't sure he could stand if he wanted to, so the floor seemed the best place to be for now, despite the puddle of blood he was curled in. There was a steady beeping sound from somewhere nearby…he couldn't pin it, but it was a welcome additive to his volatile situation.

It had a pulse…it was steady.

_Beep, beep, beep_… stability and strength for his fractured thoughts to cling to.

Watari was dead. There _was no more Watari_, just a body…a corpse, an empty piece of flesh that would soon rot away into nothing. There was anything to be gained from obsessing over the dead man. Nothing. He was dead, and there was nothing that L, Light, or anyone could do about it.

He'd killed him because he'd hated him. That was a human error, a human fault that could no longer be tolerated. Hatred was petty, beneath him, and it didn't matter what L thought of him, because the world…the world knew better.

Light clutched to that idea and pulled the pieces of his wings a little closer.

Kira was righteous. Kira was justice, the infallible, the bold, and the brave. Kira was the god of a new world…and in this new world there was no place for men like Watari. Watari clung to the old ways, modeled himself after those that had long since fallen in the face of a God's power. He was outdated, and he'd…gotten what he deserved.

And just like that…. _(The blinds went __**on**__.)_

Yes, that was it. He was human, and held onto the mortal beliefs that had so hampered L. L restricted himself so much by clinging to the fragile notion of his shades of grey. Watari had thought to restrain him, keep him away from his destiny. He sought to stop a revolution. He sinned.

_Beep, beep, beep_…the dead phone line seemed to agree with him.

He sinned by taking the very foundation of the new world, and forcing him to doubt himself. His crimes against Light were not merely travesties against another person, ignorant of the basic human rights that anyone of a civilized society recognized. They were crimes, insults…to a god. A God…a fucking god. Watari would not decide the fate of thousands of innocents and sinners…Light would. Watari had done nothing but sit behind the scenes of L's mediocre puppet show and hand him the appropriate props. Watari was _nothing_ when compared to Light.

And now that he lay dead, Watari was nothing at all. The person, the man that he was once was, had left with Death a few minutes ago. He was incomplete, hollow…nothing but another meaningless point in L's scheme of greys.

…Because it was all black and white in the end, really.

Crimson, perhaps, if his macabre sense of humor allowed.

His wings firmly reattached, Light stood then, a veritable Lucifer. He'd fallen to the pits of humanity, and acted as a God would, given the circumstances. The cold eye held his in a pitiless stare, and Light returned it with a newfound confidence. This was what set him apart, what defined him as the one who would soon rise above all others…his ability to rise above _himself_.

He'd hated Watari, and once realized, he severed the petty chain without a second thought. Once dead, he'd repented, mourned the misguided, and now…now he rose above even _that_, transcending the pitiful restraints of human regret and empathy.

_Gods_ did not make mistakes. Not like _(he) _L did.

Light was better than that…Light was beyond that, at this point.

So, standing there above the stilled flesh of a man who no longer existed, Light tilted his head once in the final acknowledgment he'd ever give him. After this, Watari no longer mattered. After this…L was his only focus, his only obstacle.

And when cast in the right light…L became a prize.

Light smirked to himself and turned away, leaving a bloody trail of foot prints to the bathroom. He was filthy.

XXXX

"_Roger, I need the boys out of class."_

"_L, it's three in the morning your time. What's happened?"_

"_Watari is dead. I want all three on them on the next available flight to this location."_

XXXX

Mello stepped through the door and the room fell silent. A cursory glance, to memorize faces and locations, and then he led the way in. Matt followed behind with a backpack over one shoulder. He heard the hacker immediately head for the nearest couch and outlet jack. The officer on the other end watched as he began to set up without a word, pulling cords and laptops from the dark green bag between his knees.

Mello hovered in the doorway still, refusing to move from his spot until he'd been acknowledged.

L finally turned around, and black eyes met his and then fell away. So it was true then…L was losing himself. He watched the man force himself to smile, and just shook his head. The smile went away, and the black pools were tinged with relief that there wasn't need for the illusion. L tilted his head slightly, looking over his shoulder, and Mello held up a hand, his eyes hard.

"Near refused to come."

Surprise then, on his features. Mello was disappointed at how far gone he really was. The detective shifted a thumb to his lips, still staring past the blonde into the corridor. "Why?"

"Watari told us that you had changed…that you started making mistakes."

"I see."

"He doesn't trust you anymore."

"I see. Why did you come?"

There was a moment of silence, and Mello hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. Matt's computers rang to life with a discordant harmony of start-up noises. All eyes but piercing ice and masked blacks turned in his direction. Mello lowered his voice. "You really got him killed, didn't you?"

"Yes, it would…appear so. That's why you're here."

"You want me to track him down?"

"Yes."

"Kill him?"

"Not yet."

"Psh…" The hacker spoke up finally, tapping a cigarette from his box. "You've been saying 'not yet' for almost two years now, L. Watari told us more than that you know…he said this guy fucked with your head. Said that he got you so rattled you dropped your mask a couple times."

"Is that true?" Mello regarded the detective quietly, a hand coming to grasp his crucifix.

L glanced over at Matt, and returned his gaze to the young man in the door. The years had done them both justice, and Mello stood tall and lithe, his shoulders squared with an easy grace, his feet firmly planted. The bronze statuette about his throat was clasped tightly in a leather-gloved fist anonymous and…fitting, considering that Mello was the one to judge him now.

"…Yes."

Mello's eyes narrowed as the detective began to turn back around. "What's his name, L?"

…A pause, then "That isn't necessary."

"Look at me." Mello demanded softly. He watched the older man's shoulders tense, but he stopped, the chair halting in its turn. L raised his eyes again, and Mello didn't falter. "That's not your decision anymore. What's his name?"

The man dropped his stare, looking at the wall. "Light Yagami."

"Look at me, and say his name, L."

Matt glanced up from his computers expectantly, lighter in hand. L looked in his direction, but found no support there.

Mello wasn't asking anymore. "L…show me."

They made eye contact again, and Mello just watched him for a moment, taking stock of all the holes in the persona…and then the detective opened his mouth to speak, and the truth of it struck him. The mask dropped completely, and he was looking at the depressed, dejected…absolute _wreck_… that was L Lawliet…not the detective. _Lawliet_.

"Light Yagami."

Matt gave a low whistle. Mello's temper flared. "Fuck, L…what happened? What the fuck _happened_? It was Kira! You shouldn't have-"

"Mello, that's enough." The detective started.

"The hell it is! L….this was _Kira_, the single most dangerous man in the _world_…and you let him go? You let him _live_?" Angry words from one so still.

"He thought he was immortal…I thought to prove-"

"No…no, _you_…you're a human being. _L_ was immortal. You had _nothing_ to prove to him." Mello raked a hand through his hair as he tore the excuse open, a fist clenching at his side. "You can't even say his name without dropping it now. You realize that don't you? L is dead."

"Did it ever occur to you, Mello, that I might be tired of killing the-"

"He ripped you a new one, didn't he?" Matt interjected. He'd been watching the detective throughout he exchange, and perhaps looking deeper than Mello had at first glance. Because, unlike Mello…Matt wasn't in the least surprised. He stood slowly as his lighter clicked to life.

L paused mid-word, suddenly aware that Matt was seeing more than he'd meant to show. His face settled into complacency again, his words dull. "Matt, there's no smoking in here."

"Yes sir." It was not sarcasm, just acknowledgment. He lit the cigarette anyway and came to stand between Mello and the detective, covering the flame for the first inhale like a man that'd been smoking since he was fourteen.

He probably had, L realized bitterly. The red head paused, back to neither of them, and looked between the two for a minute while he debated. L got the feeling he was choosing sides…or at least his vantage point. In the end, he was addressing Mello. It stung more than L cared to admit.

"Let it go, Mel."

There were two bright spots of color on his other successor's cheeks, a sign that he was slowly but surely working himself into a rage. "I'm trying, Matt."

"Mel, come on. Look at him." Both sets of eyes found his again, both cold, calculating. "You really wanna hit that?"

"I would if it weren't so damn pathetic." The blonde bit off …and L chewed his thumb at that. Hard.

"I know, but he's still L. So he's a little worse for wear…it happens."

"It doesn't happen to _him_."

"Apparently, Mello, it does." The hacker turned his back to the detective completely now, and L had never felt more distant from the two of them. His teeth broke through his nail and clacked together in a most painful fashion. The two continued, oblivious. "Look, be pissed. It's cool…I know I am. But he's still boss-man, and we still have to be able to function. You can't think straight when you're angry, and you know it."

"Yeah."

"So calm down."

"…Yeah."

Matt clasped his friend's shoulder briefly, breaking the cold stare he was directing at the detective with one of his own. "I mean it."

Mello closed his eyes for a moment before shoving Matt's hand off and sighing. "Yeah…okay."

Matt watched him for another minute before turning away, apparently satisfied that the blonde wasn't going to work himself up to violence. He eyed the detective lazily and exhaled his addiction, the scent of smoke already prominent in the once-clean air. "So…who the hell are these people?"


	27. For the Record

AN- Every now and then, I get a chapter that just flows with me. This was one of them.

XXXX

"So…," Matsuda started, sifting through papers that he wasn't really reading, "He doesn't speak Japanese?"

"Nope. But he gets his point across one way or the other, usually." The red headed boy sitting across from him never glanced up. Matsuda felt more than saw Mello behind him, working at another desk set adjacent to L's. His was much smaller, and held no computer. Instead, there was only a wealth of papers and maps spread across its surface. There lay three cell phones in one corner, of various styles, and aside from the pencils in the drawer, the boy seemed to need nothing else. Occasionally he would hold a page up, and the hacker would narrow his eyes slightly as he read over it, but only a small grunt of confirmation ever left his lips.

Matsuda watched another such exchange occur, and glanced questioningly toward the detective's desk. L had his back to the team, but his workstation had acquired another set of monitors and two more keyboards. He worked in a silent state of detachment these days, only answering when directly questioned, and only then if necessary. He gave orders, he took notes, and he deleted data. Matsuda recognized the symptoms of him building up to something, but any questions only resulted in the issuance of a menial task. It had gone beyond them working alongside the detective at this point…it was blatant disrespect to the officers still on his team, in Matsuda's opinion. They weren't functioning people anymore…they were tools. Whether the detective had finally found his breaking point, or whether he was just trying to save face in front of his two prodigies, Matsuda didn't know, and he really didn't give a damn. It was damned annoying to ask an important question and be told to start another pot of coffee or review his files. He had the damn things memorized…and he'd likely been looking at them longer than the detective had, at this point.

So perhaps it was just piss L off again by breaking his little bubble, but Matsuda directed his next question at him anyway. "What are they doing?"

"Eh?"

"What are they doing? These two…they're working on something."

Matt glanced between the two detectives with a slightly raised eyebrow and took the question over. "We're working out all the possible schematics of where and how Light Yagami can travel from Leicester."

"How so?" Matsuda leaned back and crossed his arms.

"He's essentially measuring out all the different routes Yagami could have taken from the containment facility that L put him in. Now, L said that was almost the midpoint between the villages Countesthorpe and Fleckney, south of central Leicester. That's about…seventy eight miles northwest of London proper, and almost dead center of the British Isle." There was a rustle of paper over Matsuda's shoulder as the one called Mello held up another page. Matt merely glanced at it. "He's working to find out if…"

The blond boy snapped something in English and Matsuda glanced over his shoulder. A low drawl from L's desk filled in the blank for the sake of the others. "Why the hell are you ignoring me Matt?"

Matsuda closed his eyes in irritation. If the detective was aware enough of his surroundings that he could translate for the rest of them, there was no reason for him to continually ignore them. If he wasn't busy enough to really lose track of things, like he pretended so often, than he should have been able to at least brief the team on whatever he was planning. Bastard. The man couldn't breathe without lying.

Matt rolled his eyes and glanced at the page. Again, L idly translated, leaving them to draw the emotional inflections from the boys themselves instead of mimicking them in his monotone. "Yeah, I see it. He wanted to know what you were doing."

"I don't give a rat's ass what he wanted, I'm working on shit here and you're slowing me up."

Regardless of his function as an interpreter, it was still strange to hear the detective curse.

"So take five seconds to explain it to him so he'll quit bugging me about it, kay? Fuck man, it's not like I don't have two systems up over here."

"…What does he want to know?" Matsuda heard the resignation that entered the voice then, and it reminded him of how much he didn't really like that one. This red head, Matt…he was okay, even if he smoked like a chimney, but Mello was an ass.

Matt sighed and relaxed in his chair again. "Ignore him…he's being pissy because-"

"Matt, I _will_ translate for Mello, if necessary. I expect you two to be functional while you're here, and insulting him in front of the team isn't going to accomplish anything."

"He knows I don't mean it."

"They don't."

"…Aye captain. Anyway…," Matt sent a caustic glance in the detective's direction and addressed Matsuda again. "I'll translate for him so L can focus again. What do you want to know?"

Matsuda kept his remarks about L's focus to himself for the time being. "Just what he's working on, really…how is he doing it?"

There was a moment for the message to be relayed. The shift in paper behind him paused while the Mello boy considered his answer and then the sound of his voice started up quietly. He spoke without flair, though not the disinterested monotone that L so often adopted when he was thinking. Instead, he sounded like a man pressed for patience and forced to explain something redundant to a child. The tone was not lost on Matsuda.

He really didn't like this Mello guy.

"The average human being walks at a rate of 4 to 5 kilometers, or roughly three miles an hour. A man of Yagami's stature and build would normally walk the higher end of that three, but because he is tired and underweight, he'll likely be reserving his strength. That puts him at just above or possibly even below the two mile average speed. Now, L told him that he was three days out in any direction, which was a flat lie. In good condition he could make the hike in about two hours, and on a clear day, he could even see the next town. If he follows the path out from the facility, he'll likely come across a tiny road, Welford. From there, he can go north to Wigston, or south to Shearsby, small villages that will provide transportation to either Leicester or one of the other large cities. From there, he could hijack a car, or maybe ride the bus if the person who drove him that far is sympathetic enough. I didn't think of that the first time through…I counted on him sneaking on…." There was the sound a pen scratching, and Matsuda turned around to watch him scribble another point onto his map. "Regardless, from there, he's either headed for an airport, or more likely London and then the Channel."

"So what…are you just figuring out different routes he could take?"

Mello turned and gave him a harsh stare before turning back to his work. Matt just chuckled. "Actually no…he's inputting the projected travel times for every available option and giving us a point network to work with."

"Wouldn't he need a calculator for all that?" Matsuda snorted.

"He's doing it in his head."

Silence. Mello held up another page.

"See…this one says that if he wanted, he could reach London by three' clock today."

"You can read his handwriting from there?"

"I've been doing this for years, man. Anyway, he's gonna keep working on that map and giving me points like that…then I'm putting them into a matrix on my computer. It's a bunch of bullshit and busy work, but it's going to narrow down the field tremendously when he starts jumping borders."

"They'd let him do that?"

"Europe isn't a country, man, it's a _bunch_ of countries. If they had mandatory stops at every border, trade and transportation would come to a complete standstill. It ain't like the States or South America. Europe is small." Matt rolled his cigarette to the other side of his lips and leaned forward to begin typing again. "Consider this…you have the European Union in place, which is where your vehicle get its registration. The collected states have a standard format, and small markers and initials to determine where your vehicle originated. As far as their concerned, that's as good as a passport, though it's recommended that you have one of those on hand at all times, too. It can serve as your driver's license in some places."

Matsuda nodded, and Matt continued. "Now, theoretically speaking, Yagami could-"

Here, he glanced at the side and broke off to snap at the detective's back. "You don't have to flinch every time I say his name, damn it."

The detective completely ignored this. Matt bit his cigarette and wished he hadn't said anything. "Anyway, theoretically speaking, Kira could hitchhike his way across the European continent and never raise an eyebrow. It happens all the time, tourists back-packing and losing their taste for the moor. Buying a ride to town isn't at all uncommon."

"I've never thought of it that way..."

"That's because your nation is a string of islands, dude. It happens. We're most likely going to get him on the trains however, because as far as the rest of the world knows, Light Yagami's student I.D is still viable. He's dead in Japan, but enough time has passed that even that may not hold up if they don't run a system check on him. We can't exactly announce to the world that Kira is in Europe and to be on the lookout for this guy."

The detective broke in here, and Matsuda sent a dark look at the back of his chair too. "That would more likely find him a safe house than a prison. The world has gone insane. Regardless, he will not be hiding from us. He's coming after me, and he knows exactly where I am. Once in Japan, he will be able to track me down without issue, especially if he makes contact with Takada, and Mikami Teru is working with her. He has information on the bureau…information that Light has been denied from the outside."

"Exactly…he's coming to us. However, we don't know how, and we'd like to catch him before he gets here. Thus Mello is mapping the specs."

"However, that leaves us nothing to do until he decides to contact us." Matsuda mused aloud, and L's typing quieted for a moment. Matt just nodded.

"Yeah…but when he does, Mello's information is going to make pinpointing him a lot easier. We plan to hack the cell phone signal, just like any regular cop would…Odds are he's unprepared for something like that, and there's not much he could do about it in public."

"Light studied for years to become a member of the police force here in Japan, though." Matsuda remarked. "It's not as though he won't expect something along those lines. How do we know he'd even risk calling when he knows that we're standing by with a bug and a map?"

"He'll call."

L only had to say it once.

XXXX

"_Thanks for the ride, sir. I don't know what I'd have done without you."_

"_You'da wandered the bloody moor till dawn's whatcha'da done." _

"_I guess so." The truck door slammed and he began to walk away._

"_Oiy, lad, come back."_

_He turned, raising an (expectant) curious eyebrow and asked in his heavily accented English. "Yes sir?"_

"_Here…I got sommat for ya. It taint much, but it'll take ya to Leicester." The old man drew his fist and the bills back as he reached for them. "Now don't be blowing this in the pubs, lad. Ya hear?"_

"_Oh, I'm done. Just one of your pubs was enough for me. I'm ready to go home." _

"_Aye, lad, that's what they all say. Hope ya get your bag and whatnot back, though I wouldn't count on it. Bad place to be losing it, after all."_

"_I know…but thanks for your help. When does the bus run again?"_

"_Oh, 'bout half an hour from now. Don't miss it, ya hear? The stop's right over there on that corner."_

"_Thank you again."_

XXXX

It was nearing midnight when something finally changed. Granted, it wasn't much more than a cessation of work, but it was something. Matsuda was leaning upon the wall a respectful distance from Mello's desk and watching him work. To his eyes, there wasn't much being done, but lines were being scribbled onto the map that he knew he would likely never understand. The boy's pen never ceased to move, and though his eyes would go unfocused every few minutes to scratch a new point and time on the list and hold it up to be verified, he never moved. He never spoke, aside from the occasional growl when he had to back track because of a missed opportunity. He calculated everything, from walking time, to running time, to driving time, and hundreds of variations on that. Driving while tired, speeding, intoxicated, carefully, hitchhiked vehicle time, possible stopovers…everything.

Matsuda may not have liked him, but he did respect him. The sheer size of the task was daunting.

Finally, at midnight, L pushed back from his computer. Matt lifted his head from the bubble of his electronic toys as the detective stood and stretched. He said it in English first –which really, _really_ annoyed Matsuda, because in all fairness they deserved it first, just on principle- and then in Japanese. "Time to stop for the night. Get some rest gentleman."

Matt glanced over Mello, who never twitched. He said something in English, and L stretched, again boredly translating for the sake of politeness. "Mel, time to take a break."

"I just hit Germany." The blond supposedly growled over his shoulder.

"Well, I ain't gonna put up with your bitching tomorrow, so drop the pen." L turned around and scratched his leg, adding something after that.

Matt glanced at Matsuda. "L just told him to listen to me. I'm right."

Matsuda really hated the whole translation angle, but supposed it couldn't be helped. The red head turned back to the blonde, and the mildly confused detective instinctively leaned towards L for the interpretation. "Put your equations down and let it go for a bit. You can come back to it."

L chuckled at whatever the blonde said to that, repeating slowly. "Fuck you, I'm working."

"Mello."

The name didn't need translation, and neither did Matt's tone. Matsuda smirked shortly before he remembered seeing Light do the same thing to L on a regular basis. That kind of killed the mood…in a violent, screaming manner. L was no longer smiling either, when Matsuda dared a glance. The man's quiet, annoyed expression rekindled Matsuda's irritation with him as well. If L were looking for company in his self-abuse, Matsuda was more than willing to pop off.

Instead, the detective made no comment, and the dozens of snide remarks on Matsuda's tongue went unspoken. He looked back when Mello sighed, and rubbed his eyes. The pen stopped moving for a moment.

A second later it picked back up, apparently recording the calculations that they'd all so rudely interrupted. They were huge, and Matsuda watched in abject horror as the equations flew from his pencil and quickly filled two and a half pages of blank paper, all of them symbols and diagrams, and even mini-charts. The majority of it was indecipherable, with all the variables that he was packing into them.

After two or three breathless moments of writing, Mello threw his pencil down and glared to his right. That would have put him staring at wall, had Matsuda not recently taken up residence in his line of sight. For the first time Mello acknowledged his presence, after nearly two _hours_ of him standing there, bored out of his mind and strangely fascinated by the moving pencil. Perhaps he was just jealous that Mello had something to work on.

The blonde spoke to him and both L and Matt translated.

"What are you looking at?'

"He wants to know what you're…yeah…."

Matsuda glanced between the two of them and found his opportune jab. He smirked arrogantly, crossing his arms as he delivered it. "I think I would prefer Matt to translate, L. After all, he hasn't lied to me yet."

Mello braced an elbow on the back of his chair as he turned to the hacker and waited, one eyebrow raised expectantly. Matt chuckled, pulling the cigarette from his lips and exhaling the smoke before repeating the sentence with perfect inflection.

The punch took him across the right side of the face with enough force to knock him on his ass. White-hot pain spread across his cheek and into his jaw as it tried to run half way around his head. Sprawled in the floor, Matsuda took a minute to acknowledge just how very _much_ that hurt. Fuck.

Mello, as it turned out, had a beautiful left hook and was quite a bit stronger than his build let on. When his eyes quit watering long enough for him to see, he glared up at the young blond, trying to regain some scrap of his dignity despite having just been lain out for the first time in his career. He was met with a cool stare and not much else.

Mogi and Ide were on their feet, watching the scene warily. Somewhere to the side of them Matt was laughing as he came to give the fallen detective a hand. Matsuda almost refused, until he saw the way Mello cut his eyes at the other boy for offering the assistance. He took it grudgingly then, just to piss him off further, and Mello's sharp stare was returned to him.

"You knew he would do that, didn't you?!" Matsuda snapped at the younger boy, and Mello apparently interpreted this as a threat on Matt's behalf, because the next thing Matsuda knew, he was _back_ on the floor, and something warm was dripping down his chin.

The shock wore off and the hellfire pain followed seconds after as his lip began to throb. _Fuck._

Matt flicked ash to the floor, and shoved a hand in his pocket, refusing to help him up a second time. That was fine, because Matsuda was rather preoccupied with stemming the flow of blood and likely wouldn't have noticed. Matt really just didn't want to stain his gloves, if he were honest.

"I suggest you stop speaking to me in that tone of voice, because he's tired, he's pissed, and I'm sick of translating, Mmkay?"

"A little warning would have been nice!" Matsuda managed through his fingers, refusing to admit how much of a whine it was.

Matt seemed to consider that. "Did I know that was coming? Yes, I did. However, did you see him move? No. Could I have stopped that? _Hell_ no. A train would be easier. Moral of the story, if Mello's swinging, gird your loins, because it's already too late. On another note, it's not a good idea to act all high and mighty about L around him either. You see, the three of us?" Matt took second to point between the geniuses. "We have history. We've known that man since we were _nine_, bitch. You got _nothing_ on us."

Matsuda looked to L, but found nothing in the way of help there. The man merely watched the scene with that infuriatingly disinterested look on his face.

Mello tilted his head towards Matt and said something.

Matt chuckled. "For the record…he doesn't like you, either."

XXXX

AN2- Is it bad of me that I just really wanted Mello to knock the hell out of my other favorite sub-character? Hmm? I mean come on, that was funny. Poor Matsu darling...they all get their moments, I promise.

And Matt cracks me up, I'm sorry. I hope you found this as amusing, and informative, as I meant for it to be. The facts and places were real, thanks to Google Maps and Wikipedia. However, I've recently discovered that one or two of my readers are from the UK, sooo...fact check, please?

Hope the translating went pretty well...I tried to keep it simple.

-Kani


	28. Revelation

AN- This story is just screaming at me, lately. I mean really...two chapters in as many days and the next is half done as well? I haven't updated like this since...Violins, almost. (Shudders) And that was so very long ago. Yikes.

Hope you like this...I kinda lit another firecracker and threw it in the bucket. It's very much a wham-bam-thank you L ending. O.o If those exist.

-Kani

XXXX

When Matsuda woke up early a couple of days later, the swelling was mostly gone. It was a blessed relief, because it meant that he could have his coffee again. Glancing over at his clock, he tongued the cut idly. There had been no other altercations between him and the blonde boy. They regarded each other carefully, but for the most part things were smooth again. He was a little confused by it in reality. He'd expected some form of wariness or distrust from him, but Mello went about his tasks as though nothing had happened. When he questioned Matt about it, the hacker explained that strange as it may sound, Mello actually respected the detective for not hitting him back. Obviously, self-control was the one thing that Mello wasn't very good at, so Matsuda's refusal to take the fight further set him apart from most of the other people that Mello had dealt with. Even Matt had been drawn into fist-fights with his friend, reluctant as they were. So they skirted each other like dogs working under the same master. Sighing, Matsuda pulled himself out of bed at five thirty and headed for the shower.

Half an hour later, clad in one of his white undershirts and a pair of his work khakis, he went in search of coffee. The suite was a T shaped room, the center composed mainly of two long worktables and chairs. Furniture had been removed to accommodate the workspace. At the crux of the room was L's station, a broad wall of computers, monitors, and papers that was daunting to any man but the one that worked there. To the right of that was the kitchen area, and to the left was the small living room, where they kept wary eyes on the news and rested during breaks. The four small bedrooms opened out to the work table, and while it wasn't the greatest thing in the world to be presented with his office upon opening the door, Matsuda supposed it was efficient. Still, he spied his goal across the long table, shiny and black on the kitchen counter. L at least provided decent coffee for the team…gourmet blends and various roasts and flavors. If they'd tried to work this case with an industrial machine like the one at the bureau, they'd have gone insane.

He finger-combed his still damp hair as he made his way to the kitchen. Arabica roast sounded good today…a simple coffee with a bold flavor, not so strong that it became bitter and undrinkable when cold. It would his first cup since Mello split his lip, damn it, and he was going to finish it, fresh or not. He pulled the bag from the cabinet and glanced at L's station, boredly fishing for the coffee measure.

Mello's frank stare greeted him from the armchair adjacent to the couch. It was L's chair normally, when he deemed it necessary to rest his eyes from the monitor's glare. Instead, to his utter shock, he found L stretched out on the couch, for all appearances asleep. The detective had one arm thrown over his eyes, the other resting across his stomach, and his knees were slightly bent to accommodate the curve of his spine. Matsuda blindly went about making coffee as he took in the scene before him. The detective lay sleeping on the couch, and next to his head sat the blond boy, one foot propped on the coffee table before him. There was pad of paper on his thigh and a pencil behind his ear, but he didn't appear to be working yet. Sitting next to him with his back against the chair, was the hacker Matt. He had ear buds in, and appeared to mashing away at a game console, the bright colors lighting up his face in the otherwise dark living room. Mello's hand hung just above his shoulder, his fingertips brushing the fabric of the other boy's shirt. He looked like a wild cat maintaining watch over the den. L had warned them that the boy was extremely paranoid, and very protective of the other two, but he hadn't mentioned it was the fond type of protection. He had seemed like more of an instinctive bodyguard than a friend for the most part, until Matt said or did something that showcased the actual friendship. This was the first time he'd seen anything resembling care from Mello, though. Matt was fine with punching the blond in the arm, or putting a hand on his shoulder when he read whatever he was working on, but Matsuda had yet to see Mello initiate contact of any sort.

If that could really be considered contact…they were hardly touching. The gesture was possessive. He remembered likening the two of them to L and Light at one point, and it had been a stretch. Here though, at five in the morning when Mello kept guard over the two of them, he looked more like Light than Matsuda cared to admit. Perhaps it was his level stare, calculating and distant…maybe it was the way he lorded over his small space, in complete control of every fraction of movement that occurred there. Matsuda wasn't sure…but it was certainly creepy. The coffee pot began to brew, and as life elixir pattered into its pot, the detective finally managed to break that stare. There was no challenge there, just a calm regard. L's chest rose and fell steadily, Matt grinned randomly at his tiny screen, and Mello watched. It seemed a natural order of things that Matsuda loathed to disturb. Normality was not something he'd had the last few years.

Mello rolled his shoulders and put his foot down. The movement drew Matt's attention from the game, but Mello place a palm on his head and the gamer settled back into his realm of go-karts and turtle shells. Matsuda watched as he stood, stretched, and then made his way quietly across the room. The boy paused by L's desk for a moment, scanning the lower half for something…he came away with a stolen peppermint in one fist, glancing back at the sleeping detective. This was an age-old act, Matsuda could tell, and the familiarity of the motion was the most calming thing he'd seen in a while. The simple action of checking to see if he'd been caught was so juvenile, so child-like in the presence of a sleeping parent, that Matsuda remembered for the first time that the two of them could be no more than seventeen or eighteen at the most. The blond turned back to him and Matsuda's grin didn't fade. Mello merely shrugged and wandered over to the still brewing coffee pot. They stood in silence for a moment as Mello reached out and picked the bag up, reading the brand and thumbing the label idly. He set the candy down on the counter and opened the cabinet above it. A menagerie of mugs and cups met his eyes, because the entire team had brought their coffee stashes to contribute to the bachelor kitchen. The boy smiled at the sight, and pulled two out, setting them on the counter. He seemed to regard the open cabinet for another moment, brow furrowed as he stared at the empty top shelf.

He took another glance at L, then without warning, gripped the piece of wood and pulled. Matsuda, startled into action by the sudden movement, went to brace the boy, but retracted his hand at the last second, afraid to touch him. Mello pulled himself up onto the counter and hovered there on his knees, assuring himself of his balance before shoving his arm elbow-deep into the recesses of the empty shelf.

He came back with a bar of chocolate.

Grinning smugly, he hopped back down and shut the cabinet door, again shrugging innocently at the incredulous expression on Matsuda's face. Without a word, he pulled the now full coffee pot from the machine and filled both their mugs. Matsuda regained himself long enough to grab two spoons from the drawer and offer him one. He turned around to pull the creamer from the small refrigerator and heard a strange clinking sound.

He shut the door to find an empty peppermint wrapper on the counter and the candy itself being stirred into the boy's hot coffee. He blinked just to be sure, but yes, Mello was pulling the peppermint out to see how much had dissolved. Half of the candy was gone when he spooned it out and set it back on the wrapper. The candy bar was then torn open and two small squares of that met the same fate.

It looked disgusting, but it was starting to smell kind of good…he supposed. Maybe.

Staring, head cocked slightly to the side, he watched the chocolate dissolve into the still steaming cup of coffee with an almost morbid fascination. He spilled the sugar he was attempting to put into his own cup and didn't bother cleaning it. Mello held his hand out for the cream, and after reading the label to be sure it was plain, he filled the remainder of his cup with it.

The boy took his concoction lovingly in one hand, and as an afterthought snatched the rest of the candy bar too. He strolled back to his seat and resumed his post just as Mogi's alarm went off in the bedroom next to L's. Matsuda had time to see him wave the coffee under the gamer's nose, who turned it up in disdain, before the sleeping detective twitched. Matsuda, and apparently Mello, knew he was awake before he gathered the energy to actually move from his place on the couch. He brought his arm down, staring at the ceiling before turning to acknowledge the boys. Mello nodded a greeting, sipping on his peppermint…mocha…thing, and pulled one of Matt's headphones out to mutter in his ear. The other boy pulled away irritably, and waved over his shoulder before snatching the bud up and replacing it, again gone to his world. L just chuckled and sat up.

They met eyes across the room, and sadness took them both. Matsuda had been with the Taskforce for nearly three years now, despite the nine months or so of its disbandment. As a bachelor approaching his mid-twenties, it was easy enough to dedicate his life to the case. He had little else to go home to, and few passions aside from his work. Actually, aside from baseball and ramen, he really had none at all. Detective work consumed his life, because it was a way for a helpless romantic like himself to give back to his community…and the Kira case had been the epitome of that. He had three days left with the team now…three days until he left this building forever. He'd leave with a new name, and attempt to start a new life. In reality, however, he wasn't even sure what world he'd be returning to. He'd been so long behind these doors, watching from afar as the world changed in light of Kira's reign, and it had seemed distant. It was almost as though it wasn't happening.

The lines on the detective's face told him otherwise. The worry and frowns evidenced in all of their faces told him otherwise. It was still hard to believe.

Hopeless romantic, after all.

The detective sighed and swung his legs off. "I would like to speak to you, Matsuda-san. I'm afraid this is a private as it going to become around here."

Matsuda sighed...the man hadn't been awake five minutes yet, and he was already working. Such was L.

Mello watched him stand and pulled the pencil from his ear. The sound of lead scratching paper was almost as familiar to him now as the sound of L's typing, Matsuda realized. Changes came quickly to his small world. Matsuda took a sip of his coffee and nodded because it was just too early to start resenting the detective again. In the half hour they had until the task force awakened and became ready to work, let them just be men again, like they were in L's hospital room.

The detective glanced at the two boys again and then headed for the kitchen. He paused as he passed his workstation, the scars on his back tingling as he remembered what it had felt like to fall to this floor, bleeding.

Matsuda remembered too, the sheer amount of blood the detective lost that day was staggering. "I shot it…four times, at least. I hit two of your monitors, tore the corner off of your desk and hit your old chair. I know I didn't miss it, L."

"They are Gods, Matsuda. Our weapons mean nothing in the face of something immortal. It's our souls that they fear." The detective stared for a moment longer before coming to fix his own coffee. Matsuda wordlessly shoved him the sugar pot. "Still…you saved my life that day. I have not forgotten it."

"What is he working on now?"

"Mello? Likely recording our conversation."

"He doesn't speak Japanese."

"He's using phonetics…transcribing actual sounds instead of words. It's a method often used in stage theatre to help actors properly enunciate lines in foreign languages. Matt will translate it for him later."

Matsuda closed his eyes, amazed by the sheer amount of paranoia that required. "You wished to speak with me?"

"Yes, I know. I have an unfair request to make of you, I'm afraid."

Matsuda said nothing to that, his eyes again wandering to Mello. The boy continued writing, sipping his coffee.

"I know that I have been rather reclusive this past week. Watari's death was not an easy thing on my conscience, I'm sure you understand that. However, I have come to a decision, and it's not one that I've made lightly. Your participation is crucial."

"It's not fair to ask that of me, L." Matsuda finally sighed, his tone bitter. "You waited until now to-"

"Please understand just how much of my life has changed in the last two weeks. My oldest companion is dead, killed by my first ever friend. I have killed a god of death and sustained the first life-threatening wounds of my career. I have gained and lost friends in you and the team and now…now I have brought my successors into the battle, before their time. They are not ready to take cases, and certainly not ones such as this, but you must understand…in the last two weeks, I have discovered that I am incapable of doing this alone." L's dark eyes turned to his face, quietly watching. "It is the first time I have ever been so thoroughly out of my league, and I am blind. It took a bit for me to come back to my senses after the blow that was dealt me in both Watari and your notice. I'm asking you now, as a friend, to hear me out before you're gone, because I desperately need your help."

"How am I to know that you're not lying to me? How am I more than a tool to you when for so long, I was useless? You lie as well as Light did."

"I know. Luckily for all involved, I spend most of that talent lying to myself however. Are you going to help me with this final project or not?"

"You sound like a man about to commit suicide."

"In a sense."

Matsuda stared.

XXXX

Follow Teru Mikami. The only lead in months, and possibly the one that would give up Takada…all they needed was solid evidence. He was authorized to arrest either of them upon sighting anything that looked like Deathnote paper. Takada traveled with a full entourage of body guards, but Mikami…he was just a lawyer. If an arrest was going to be made, it would be him.

Matsuda glanced at his watched and shivered. He had three hours until everything fell apart. This was not the place to be when it did. He passed a magazine vendor, a quick glance revealing Kira's name on the front pages of dozens of brands. There was an entire section of the man's wares designated to Kira-related headlines. He passed the street's intersection an almost lost the man in the crowd. Damn Mikami for walking…he was fairly nondescript in the bustle of downtown lunch traffic.

Matsuda followed him carefully, eyes trained on the back of his head. A teenager bumped into the detective, and he paused long enough to read the word "Kira" printed boldly upon his black shirt, and shoved past him, disgusted. They had no idea how much of his life was gone to that name. Not a clue.

Mikami rounded a corner, and with a brief glance over his shoulder, Matsuda broke into a sprint. Better to catch him close than give him time to turn another corner before he caught up. He wove through the crowds, scanning faces and keeping an eye on the passing traffic. He needed to look like a man late for a meeting, not an undercover cop following a suspect. For perhaps the hundredth time, he wondered to himself how Light had managed to kill those FBI agents. L hadn't offered details and Matsuda had never asked, but it still bothered him. He wondered if that Penber guy felt like he did now, tailing a man that may or may not be the key to saving the world from a terror unlike any that had come before.

Matsuda stepped from behind the building just in time to see Mikami ducking into a car. Cursing himself, he fumbled his phone from his pocket and dialed headquarters. As an afterthought, he pressed the button on his belt twice, for the first time activating the homing device that Watari had installed. They rarely left the building anymore, but L had insisted that he dig it out to wear on this mission. The line picked up.

"I'm losing him. He's in a black vehicle, no tags, and I'm not close enough to bug it." He could hear a faint beeping underneath the automated L-voice.

"_She's having him escorted to the real meeting place then."_

"Should I follow?"

"_Yes, I have your signal. Follow for as long as possible. Be careful."_

"I won't be able to keep-" The words slurred and died on his lips as the back of his head exploded in pain. He stumbled, the phone falling from his hands. A grip caught the back of his long coat to steady him, and the second blow put him under.

"_Matsuda?!"_

XXXX

"His phone remains off, I'm afraid." L announced grimly. Mogi stopped pacing and raked a hand over his face. Ide watched the small blinking light moving across the one of the monitors. L brought the image up on the large screen, pointing at the dot inching its way through a map of Tokyo. "We can follow him here, but contact is impossible unless they want it, or he gets lucky."

"Should we start working on him?" Matt leaned back against the table, arms crossed as he regarded the dot's progress. "We can always split the difference between Yagami and Touta."

"No…I'm about to make the broadcast and I need you two to be ready for the call. We can handle Matsuda…I need you to focus on Light."

"Alright then." Matt flicked ash to the floor and shifted his eyes to the back of the detective's head. "Are you sure about this? This isn't something you can take back, you know."

"Yes. It has practically been done for me, at this point. What's another nail in the coffin?"

"Near's going to kill you."

"Near will be beside himself, yes, but I don't think he'd do something that drastic."

"Mello's pissed too"

"It happens."

"…Alright." Matt sighed, pulling his goggles on. "Just making sure. The equipment's prepped and ready to go…we're ready when you are."

The detective reclaimed his seat and moved the tracking program to one of the lesser monitors again. After a moment's prep, he tapped the five global networks in his repertoire and took a deep breath.

Matt glanced at the other two detectives and smirked.

"Put your fingers in your ears, boys…Daddy's about to say something nasty."

XXXX

"_I suppose it is high time that I make a statement. There are quite a few rumors circling that need to be either verified or put to rest.  
_

_I am L…and I am Kira."_


	29. War

AN- Oh my god this story is running, and I'm trying to keep up!!

XXXX

"Matsuda's signal seems to have stopped here…I know this hotel. It was the first one I found that would let me rent out the suite for-"

The phone rang, and the detective's words cut off as though the man hung from his noose. There was a moment of silence, and then his fists clenched, if for no other reason than that the boys might not see his hands shaking. Matt waved Mello over to the station and entered a code. The hacker looked up expectantly while Mello picked up a headset. "Should I listen too?"

"No…just him." L muttered as he picked the phone up and stared at the caller I.D. Watari's face and name mocked him, a mask for the monster on the other end of the line.

"We're ready, L. Don't miss him." Mello prompted, and L took a deep breath. It took every fiber of his will to move his thumb an inch and a half to the call button but he managed, eventually, to answer.

"Hello?"

"_I'd like to ask what in hell you think you're doing…."_

XXXX

"…But I'm not going to." Light continued, trying to maintain his fragile grip on the beast of his temper. He stared up at the screen across the station, where they were playing the detective's announcement for the fourth time in ten minutes. "…Because that would be uncharacteristically rude of me."

"_Far be it from me to call you a liar."_

"I could say the same to you, L." Light chuckled dryly, leaning back on his bench and watching various people pass in front his television. "Because you see, this tells me a lot. You've been lying to me quite a bit, I've noticed."

"_Aren't you clever?"_

His control fractured slightly, his words a mere step above a snarl. "Shut up."

"…_What do you want, Light?"_

"There never was a council, was there? You never answered to anyone but yourself."

XXXX

L glanced to the side at the boys, but Mello wasn't listening to the voices. Matt was typing furiously while Mello gave him information.

"Woman in heels just passed…ticket recall for A2 to Hamburg, he's in Germany…likely a station, bus or train…"

"No…there's wasn't a council, Light." L muttered quietly watching the two of them together.

"…_Perhaps there's more truth in your broadcast than you care to admit. Did you really need to test the notes so badly, L?"_

There didn't seem to be enough air in the room. That hook worked its way into the darker corners of L's subconscious and made itself comfortable, spreading its poison at every turn. L stared at the crown of Mello's head while he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds in the background, and for a moment, he was terrified that perhaps Mello had lied. If the boy knew what L had done…

"…tiled floor…a whistle, he's waiting on a train…"

The detective licked his lips, his mouth chalky.

XXXX

"_It was necessary."_

"It was pointless." Light countered, a smirk taking his features at the confession. He stood then, turning his back on the television. The small shoulder bag he'd acquired in London carried most of his things. He set off across the station…sitting in any one place for too long bothered him. "It was nothing more than your morbid curiosity getting the best of you. That's why Watari was so disappointed…I see it now where I didn't before. He never mentioned a world about any council…not ever."

"_Light…."_

"I'm right aren't I? There's no one above you, L. You just needed an excuse to sink to my level."

"_I'm not discussing-"_

"How did it feel?" Light cut him off, and heard the quiet intake of breath that told him just how deeply he had his claws. It wasn't a matter of whether the detective was listening or not…Light's grip was too powerful for anything less. "L?"

XXXX

"…He's moving, his voice is echoing off the walls…"

L closed his eyes and turned his back on the boys.

XXXX

"_No."_

"No? How did it feel, L? Talk to me…I remember, don't you? You sat there and watched me write it out, letter by letter, knowing that when I finished a man was going to die. You watched me, L. Did it make you feel powerful?" Light's voice lowered, taunting. The detective's sigh had a shiver to it that did not go unacknowledged.

"_I'm not discussing this with you."_

"Of course you are…because you won't hang up on me…will you, L?"

That was a stretch, one Light wished he hadn't made, but he paused in his walking to hear the answer…more dependent on it that he cared to admit.

It took a minute.

"…_No…I won't."_

But it was worth it. The inhuman joy took him again at the confession, and he wondered to himself if L had the phone tapped…if anyone else could hear the defeated note that lay beneath the man's every word. It was a sadistic pleasure, but he'd worked hard to put these chains in place.

"Did you enjoy it?" Light decided to be kind and ignore the near obedient answer in favor of the more interesting one. "I remember, L…you couldn't look at me."

"_Light, that's enough."_

"You could hear the pen moving across the paper, the chain hissing across the table top. Did it make you feel powerful, to have Kira in chains?"

"…_Shut up."_

"It's okay. Really, it is, because all you're doing is proving me right. You realize this don't you? You're no better than I am."

"_You are nothing compared to me."_

"L is dead."

XXXX

"_I'm not L_." The detective hissed, and it was true. L was dead, long dead, and he couldn't deal with Light Yagami anyway. He hid his expression from the boys because they would know, and from the team because they would wonder. No, it was only Lawliet that could deal with Light Yagami. It was only Lawliet that could put Kira back in his place. If they had to dance, then fine…Lawliet could play that game too.

He heard the other man pause, just a brief falter, and knew that he'd successfully thrown him. _"Just like you're not Kira?"_

"This is the real reason you called, isn't it?" The man wandered away from his desk, leaving the work force behind him at the table. He paused just inside the living area. "To talk to me?"

"_Are you more comfortable speaking English?"_

The realization that he'd slipped into his native tongue was like a splash of cold water. He turned to find Mello staring at him, eyes cold and impenetrable.

He hissed into the machine as he turned away, "Japanese, or I hang up."

"_...So we're not alone on the line, but you have insured some form of privacy. I'm touched, really. But how many more people do you plan on getting killed?"_

L pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it in disgust.

XXXX

"I'm sorry." Light offered lowly as he passed the terminal and flashed his ticket to the man aboard the train. "That sounded too familiar, didn't it? I wouldn't want the translator to get suspicious of your relationship with your prime suspect."

"_That's quite enough from you."_

"Tell me…does anyone else know that your idea of high security containment facility is a two story cottage on the English moor. Was that really your idea, or did it have some sentimental value, I wonder…"

And just like that, he had the man back in his palm. This was becoming easy. _"…Shut up."_

"Did you grow up there? Or perhaps nearby? It's certainly not 'three days on the moor' like you described it to me."

"_Light, what do you want?"_

"I love it when you get angry with me. I can't help it, it's an accomplishment."

"…_Get to the point."_

Light decided to be contrary and switched to English again. "My point is that I'm closer to Japan than you might think, _L_. I'm not happy, and I'm probably going to kill you when I get there."

XXXX

L turned to look at Mello again, and found him staring a hole through his chest. That look carried the weight a bullet, and the color in his cheeks told L than he needed to end this conversation quickly.

He muttered in Japanese, the first thing that came to his mind. "Probably, Light?"

"…"

"_Are_ you going to kill me? Are you going to show up at my door and shoot me like you did Watari? Or did you have something else in mind? Will you write my name in a Death Note?"

"_Would you give it to me?"_

XXXX

"_If you managed to capture me, perhaps."_

Light's world tilted on its axis.

"…_And if I don't burn them before you get here."_

"You wouldn't." Light managed.

"_Wouldn't I? I wonder where your precious plans would be then. I suppose that would_ _rather rip the heart from them. After all, she will run out of pages eventually."_

XXXX

"And when she does, I'll be Kira. Tell me…does she even know that you're the original?" L eased into the armchair, staring at the floor as he dug at Light's insecurities, feeling more powerful that he would ever dare to admit. "Does she even know that when I tell her to come forward as Kira, she'll walk to her own death? Can you protect her from there, Light?"

Silence…but that was almost as good as a confession. "I have your title, Light."

"_There are those that will doubt…."_

"There are those that will _always_ doubt, but the fact of the matter is that Kira is mine, now. You _offered_ him to me." The detective smirked into the phone, amused. "Did you not think that I could use that to my advantage?"

"_You're not worthy of the name."_

"You spent nearly a year trying to convince me that L was no better. Tell me, is this how you had planned to end it all? Claiming both titles and running the world from behind my mask?"

"_You _can't_ take it from me."_

"I took everything else from you. Didn't I, Light? You remember it so well, now…could you kill without remembering that I made you do it?"

_"You forced nothing on me."_

"I chained you to a table, Kira. I gave you no choice. You did it more than happily, though, I might add."

_"No…"_

XXXX

"_You remember."_

"…You enjoyed it." Words that moments ago had hurt the man now only seemed to further his point. Light's mouth went dry.

"_So did you. And I have to ask…if you've given me even that, then how in the world am_ I _unworthy of Kira's title. You've given me everything." _

"What do you want?"

The detective's chuckle was full of ice, and he remembered sitting in a cell, so long ago, and staring into eyes that touched his soul. _"I don't think either of us knows, Light. But you better get here quickly. I'll burn them if you keep me waiting."_

And how…HOW had he lost control of this?! WHEN did the man reach into him and tear him down as though he was nothing? Light temper flared. God that…that fucking….

He slammed the phone shut.

And promptly lost.

XXXX

L pulled the phone away and stared at it. Somewhere between the newly re-opened scars and pointless remarks, he'd won. He wasn't sure how, but the victory set his blood on edge, his heart racing miles ahead of his recently scattered thoughts. He stared at the small, blank screen and imagined that somewhere, Light was staring straight ahead with that fine line of rage at the bridge of his nose, seeing nothing and controlling his breathing.

It was a heady experience, to have finally won a battle.

He looked up then, and Mello snatched the bittersweet moment from him with a look of cold fury. The disappointment was nothing new; he supposed…he'd been dealing with those looks for the majority of his life it seemed. The fury in those icy blues was something he was unaccustomed to. Mello expected better of him. Mello had no qualms with ranting and railing, and he was sure that if Matt any idea what had been said, than there would have been hell to pay.

As it stands, the two sentences that Mello had heard were enough to fill in all the blanks that L had so graciously left open. L wanted to swallow his tongue, that he may have an excuse to never speak to him again, but that would solve nothing.

Matt was glancing between the two of them and growing more and more distressed by what he'd missed every second. Mello was enraged, Matt didn't know why, and the other two were splitting their time between Matsuda and L's current engagement.

"He's almost here." L informed them quietly, closing the phone and setting it on the coffee table.

"Not if I get to him first."

It didn't need translation. Mello was already on his feet and headed to the suite room that should have been L's. Instead, it had become more of a storage unit, and the boy's kept their bags in there.

Matt gave him a wary look that promised a talk later, and then followed him. "Mello?"

XXXX

AN2- Ah my poor psycho-possessive bastards. I want you all to know that it was damn hard to not to make this a yaoi. You just don' know. I wanted soooo bad, but someone asked me not to, and I was like...you know what? Why not?

I regret it. Sometimes. In chapters like this. Other times I just pout a bit. (sigh)


	30. Don't Let Him

AN- Allow me to make this distinction, here and now. The person that requested this story to remain to yaoi-less was a perfectly kind, STRAIGHT male, who happened to be an avid Deathnote fan. He is NOT homophobic. He was new to the community, and he asked, in a perfect gentlemanly manner, for me to keep his two favorite characters straight for this story. Because let's face it, girls. A LOT of DN fiction is gay, and there's a lot of gay porn here. Granted, it lends itself nicely to such things, but I didn't find it at all strange or rude for him to ask. And you shouldn't either. I hadn't planned on this to be yaoi in the first place, but there are just some scenes, such as that last chapter, that would have had an added layer of pain involved had there been a deeper intimacy. That is ALL that last AN meant, and I do not regret writing this story the way I have. Frankly, I was just pouting because that last chapter could have had a slightly different flavor to the powerplay. I'm saving such things for Much Ado about Nothing, however, so nyah.

Now that I've tsked you all, I think you'll enjoy this chapter. I wrote it extra special and long to make up for this tsking. I just wanted to defend the poor guy, because I didn't think of how my last note could be misconstrued, and I apologize to him, and the rest of you, for not clarifying.

-Kani

XXXX

Matsuda's hands and eyes were bound. A carefully placed blind hovered above the growing knot on the back of his head, and the sensation of cool air on the heated flesh below it told him that skin had broken. He tried to lift his head, and the back of his neck pulled unpleasantly with a layer of dried blood that confirmed this. They'd knocked the hell out of him, whoever they were. The secondary blow was likely the one that cut him, his training told him. However, the fact that it had taken a second blow to put him under said that he was either superman, or they were significantly smaller than he was.

He tried to lift his head again, and hissed in a breath as the muscles along his spine sparkled into the pain of tendons stretched too long in one position. It brought him fully awake, clearing the haze of his unwanted sleep rather nicely. He blinked behind the blindfold and began to listen.

What was he doing here anyway?

The last thing he remembered was watching Mello get some coffee, and…that had been a while ago. How he knew this without any sense of time, he'd never figure out, but that had happened a while ago…at least two days, his body told him. So what had happened between that cup of coffee and this place? Had he pissed Mello off again?

No, if Mello had wanted to knock him unconscious, it wouldn't have taken him two blows to do it.

Perhaps he'd become infected with some kind of plague, and had to be quarantined.

He blinked a few times at that suggestion and began to pay closer attention to his thoughts…the possibility of being drugged was a very real one, and he had information. A lot of it.

Perhaps L was Kira. Wait, no, that was real. Somehow, that was…L had confessed to being Kira! Well, not really confessed, but claimed it anyway, to draw Light and Takada out of hiding, and he remembered thinking that it was a really stupid thing to do and that he didn't want to be in the downtown when the news hit, but….

God his head really, really hurt.

Mikami. What about Mikami? His mind whispered the name, and pieces fell into place. He'd been in the downtown, following that bastard to see if he'd go to Takada, and then he was attacked. L must have made the announcement later that day…yesterday perhaps, or maybe two days ago. He'd always had an amazing knack for time, and he was sure that once his head quit throbbing, his mental clock would catch up.

So…L had confessed to being Kira. That meant that he was in the hands of someone, possibly someone who'd been stalking the taskforce. They'd had their fair share of Kira fanatics making claims against the detective on the internet. Or, perhaps, he was in the hands of someone worse…because L offered him no protection now. L had just single-handedly destroyed his own persona, so claiming that he worked for L would offer no sanctuary to the one the thousands of individuals that the man used to serve. If this were some foreign nation coming to…but no…that didn't make sense either. He was captured before the announcement went out.

Which meant that most likely, he was in Takada's hands now. Shit.

"You're awake."

Years on the force allowed him the sense of mind not to jump, and to take the intrusion in stride. Of course they wouldn't leave him alone. Of course not….

"Who do you work for?"

That was the one question most likely to get him killed. He gritted his teeth and kept his mouth shut. He'd been on the task force for the last three years of his life…he didn't _have_ a life besides working to catch Kira. That meant that he was valuable….

And then he began to wonder how L had ever planned to let him walk away. The thought made his blood run cold.

"Who do you work for?" Instead of considering that L would kill or imprison him, he chose to focus on that voice and study it for as long as he could. It was a woman speaking, and not a Japanese one. Her words sounded heavy, too carefully formed to be a native. That ruled out Takada herself, but he doubted the woman was stupid enough to come talk to him herself…she was still innocent as far as any court was concerned. She had done nothing but preach the gospel of Kira, and until they found Deathnote in her presence, she was untouchable. So what other woman would be asking him whom he worked for?

"Answer the question."

XXXX

Mello's bag hit the bed and the few things that he hadn't unpacked clicked together ominously from its depths. Matt watched, craving a cigarette, and shut the door behind them. "Mello, you have to calm down."

"I am calm." Mello replied quietly, and for the most part, he was. He crossed to the small dresser and opened his drawer, pulling his three changes of clothing out to pack them as well.

Matt's brow furrowed. "Maybe that's what's gotten me worried, you know. I haven't seen you like this in a while, man…really. What are you doing?"

"I'm taking L's jet and I'm going to head him off at Zurich."

"I know that. I mean what are you going to do when you _get there_?"

"I haven't decided yet."

Matt licked his lips. "Mello…you can't do that. Look at me, man."

"I said I haven't decided yet." Mello replied quietly, glancing up to meet the hacker's eyes. "And I haven't."

Matt looked unconvinced. "Mello, come on."

"I promise I won't do anything excessive." Mello dropped his eyes then, lip curling in disgust. "But you didn't hear him, Matt. He's…fucked up, bad. I can hear it in his voice. He's gone insane, and L either doesn't want to admit it, or he's scared to. That guy has a grip on him that's just…sick. I don't know how it happened, but I can't let him get to Japan. Look at how much L's already given up to him…."

"He hasn't given up yet."

"But if he were here?" Mello ran a hand through his hair. "If L were to _see_ him again? I don't know what would happen, but I can't trust him to be himself should he meet Yagami again. He's not thinking with his best interests in mind, and Yagami is…poisonous. He made my skin crawl. I couldn't imagine having to deal with him everyday. It's a wonder he's still alive."

Matt crossed his arms, staring hard at the floor while he talked. He'd never had Mello's gift for reading people, ever. Machinery was his forte, and if he came across a little cold to those around him, it was only because he didn't know how to deal with them. He was blunt, careless of other's people opinions and beliefs, but…Mello was making sense. Mello held back from people because he read too much into them. He was intuitive to an extreme, but he could explain things to Matt in way that made sense. When Mello talked him through a situation, he understood it better, could see why people did what they did. That didn't mean he had to like it, however.

He looked up to find Mello watching him, a calm expression on his face. Then, without warning, the blond reached out and hauled him forward. Matt returned the embrace awkwardly, because they didn't do this. They never did this, not on any level. Mello didn't like to be touched, and Matt wasn't overly enthused about the notion either. But here they were, Mello putting an iron lock on his ribcage. It wasn't a friendly hug, with Mello ramrod straight and awkward, and Matt sort of haphazardly trapped against the unyielding wall of his chest, but it was the only thing they had aside from the man in the other room, and they weren't even sure of whom he was anymore. So Matt's hands came up and after a tense moment of insecurity, placed themselves on Mello's shoulder blades.

"I'll do what I can, alright? Don't worry about it."

Oh, but Matt worried. "Just…you know…come back afterwards. That's all I'm asking, really. This isn't some punk from the orphanage…it's someone that L couldn't handle."

Finally, finally, Christ, Mello let him go. Matt stumbled back to his door, leaning against it like life had been denied him in that tenuous moment of contact. God, they didn't do stuff like this…it was just so _weird_.

But oddly enough, he felt better. Sort of.

XXXX

She was on the phone, now, talking to someone…

Matsuda's head hung limply from his shoulders, his breathing uneven. It was hot…extremely hot, a fever-bright kind of heat that he was unused to enduring. He was rarely ever sick. The blood rushing to his forehead and cheeks belied his coming illness however. Part of it was the fact that he hadn't eaten in a day or so, but he was fairly sure that the _rest_ of was it was due to the throbbing in his temples.

Either way, he was decidedly miserable, strapped to his chair and blind. He tried hard to concentrate on her words, but they blurred in and out of his focus as his fever spiked and pitched.

"…Not responsive to…using the drug like I suggested, then we…I'm doing the best I can, he's sick and it's not…"

Then a phrase in particular stuck in his head, pulling him from the quiet pain of his fever.

"L, it's not that simple."

"…You…you don't work for L." Matsuda fumbled the words, badly, because his tongue felt like cotton, but that was _her_ fault. She turned to stare at him, and had he been of sounder mind and able to see, he might have noticed that she looked expectant. However, nothing came from the void but the sound of her voice.

"Yes, I do."

And if Matsuda laughed at her for it, perhaps that wasn't his fault either. He'd been working with the man for three _years_ now; he thought he knew who had worked alongside him and who hadn't. There was no woman on the taskforce, and Misa Amane was dead. So he laughed.

"He's laughing, sir."

"Yeah, see…you don't work for L. You can't work for L."

"Why not?"

"Because…you don't know…."

"What don't I know?"

"L, do you know…" Matsuda muttered, feeling the lightness in his chest increase until he could hardly breathe. Then, finally, before he could finish the question that possibly could have ruined everything, Touta Matsuda fell unconscious.

XXXX

He dreamed. Panting in his sleep, he muttered incoherently, taunted by visions of Light laughing at them all. He saw L standing before him, and blinked, and saw L upon his knees, his back a cross-hatch of torn flesh and blood. He saw Mello's fingers brushing the fabric of Matt's shirt, and the scent of peppermint and coffee. He talked to anyone and everyone that crossed his sight, insensible phrases and pointed questions. He saw Light without a face, he saw L without eyes. He dreamed of cream and sugar, and felt L's blood seeping through his coat to stain his palms.

He heard L laughing like a madman, until he fell unconscious and then that world faded too.

In the end, there was black. He woke to a wall of nothing, dimly aware that he was cooler, his breathing less labored, and that his head had slowed. The fever broken, he didn't bother trying to make sense of the images in his head. They were things he'd become accustomed to long ago when he joined the taskforce.

But why was it still dark?

He blinked, and his eyelashes brushed fabric, and then he remembered. The throb in his temples subsided into something pin-pointed and sharp, but not as all-consuming as it had been when he last woke. There was a cold compress being held to the back of his head, his sweat-slick hair being brushed back from his face.

"Who are you?"

He got no answer. A cool rag began to stroke the tender area around his head wound, and as blood became tacky, he forgot he was waiting for an answer. The water sluiced away the black powder and flakes of crimson that felt so terrible upon his skin, and as it worked, he allowed himself to return to sleep. Just for a little while.

XXXX

Mello boarded the train as quietly as a man of his characteristics could allow. He had a striking manner about him, and it often worked against him when he wished to go unseen. Still, for the most part he managed to enter the car without attracting too many stares. He made his way to the back and settled in, his bag across his knees and his hands folded on his stomach.

It had been a four hour jet ride, but he'd made the train. Yagami boarded not long after he did, and their eyes met in a cool stare. Perhaps, there was something between them that betrayed Mello's purpose, perhaps there wasn't, but it wasn't a matter of what lie between them. The man took a seat a few rows ahead of him, and Mello felt his presence from the back, a tangible, insane power. His auburn hair glinted in the afternoon light, and there wasn't time for him to doubt. No time for him to worry that this might not be the man, because no sooner did he sit down than did he drawn his knees up to his chest. The man's arms came to encircle his legs, and his head rested upon his knees as he stared out the window, contemplating things unknown to either of them. The mark of L was on the man, just as surely as Yagami's weariness stained the detective.

Assured that he was in the right place, he settled in for the ride. They weren't due off for a quite a bit, with one stopover in a minor city, and then the train would take them out of the country. It was a long circular track that would eventually bring him back through Cologne, and from there, he would go west to cover his trail for a bit. L would contact him when it was safe for him to return to headquarters. He had until that stopover to watch his target, and observe. When he boarded the second train with him, Light Yagami would know, and after that, it was just a matter of who acted first. He wasn't sure of how he would go about capturing the man, but it would happen, somehow.

It was a silent ride. The fall was turning the colors of the leaves outside his window, and he watched the German countryside pass without any marked interest. Towns and villages in the distance were but spot of color in the evening light, and later, small stacks of smoke in the grey light of dawn. He was awake through it all, because there didn't seem time enough to sleep, and the idea of drifting when Kira sat in his presence made him ill. His pistol lay in the depths of his small backpack, a non-descript thing of metal and gunpowder that he may or may not have to use. He felt its outline through the fabric of the pack.

During the long hours, he wondered if he'd be able to murder someone in cold blood. It wasn't a matter of whether he was capable of it, because he was fairly sure of his own temper, and if pushed properly, there wasn't much that Mello wouldn't do. He'd tortured a boy because he'd become angry, and the quiet calm that took him in the act told him that his cruel streak was broad and efficient, ever ready should he decide to wield its scythe. It lay coiled alongside his soul, a cool piece of steel wire than never warmed, providing an empty strength to his eyes that sent most in search of warmer contact. He knew what he was capable of, and how to go about such things in a manner acceptable to someone of his expectations. He supposed that L knew of his other talents, such as how to make a boy scream without a sound ever leaving his lips…he knew how to deafen, kill, maim, sicken, all a simply innate knowledge that he never should have had. Ever.

Still, for all that he could do, he supposed they were all better off that he considered himself a good person…and that Matt was there to back him up. He may have been harsh, uncharacteristically cold in some instances, but he found, more often than not, that people simply weren't worth the effort it took to learn their names. What point lay in coming to know a person when he would never be close to them? What point was there in befriending those he was sworn to protect when in the end, they'd never know he existed? L's title was a distant mirror of the person that he could be, the one that he hoped he would become. There was no point in being personable when it led to such disgrace. L's weakness was not his own.

His cell phone rang around eight that morning, and he pulled it warily from his coat pocket. The Wammy insignia played upon the screen, the steady vibrating a quiet buzz in the otherwise silent car. He glanced at the only other passenger, who remained asleep a few rows in front of him, and quietly flipped the machine open.

"Hello?"

"Mello."

Near's voice didn't surprise him. Mello had been waiting for him to stick his nose into the mix, because he knew the boy well enough to know that he wouldn't be able to restrain himself for long. Perhaps long enough for the shock to wear off, but he wouldn't remain incapable of function. It wasn't in Near's vocabulary anymore than it was Mello's. "Yes?"

"Where are you?"

"Speak German." Mello kept his eyes trained on the back of Yagami's head, waiting for any shift in movement. The man hadn't moved since he boarded, with his cheek on his knee, sometimes dozing, but usually staring out the window.

"My German is faulty. French?"

"Fine." Mello acceded. He made the mental adjustment and glanced out his window again.

"Where are you?"

"I'm on a train, sitting seven rows away from Kira. What do you need?"

"It seems I caught you in time, then. What do you plan to do?"

"I haven't decided." Mello answered truthfully. "I can't stand the thought of taking him back to L…. It's worse than we thought."

"I know…I have recently spoken to Matt, and he repeated, nearly word for word, your assessment of the situation."

"He doesn't read people like I do."

"No, but I don't fault him for it. I called because I wanted to hear it from you. Is it really that bad?"

"…Yes." Mello sighed quietly to himself. "They ripped each other apart, Near. I wish you could see this man…I can practically see the two personas on him, both rag-dolled into something that's barely functional. On top of that, L is dead…He can't talk to the man without addressing him as Lawliet, and that's dangerous enough as it is."

"I heard that his ruse worked…that Yagami called the next morning."

"Yes…He sacrificed our title to draw him out." Mello licked his lips, eyes boring holes into the top of that head. "The only problem now is that I don't know what to do with my consolation prize."

"How bad is he?"

"He's insane, but functional. L seems to know how to work with him, frustrate him and whatnot, but what I'm seeing is someone too long subjected to isolation, an unadulterated God complex that's full of holes, and a man going through the shock of his first kill."

"That's the profile that Matt rattled off to me. What does he look like in person?"

"A man dead on his feet and hardly capable of walking."

"Do you want my honest opinion?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"This is hardly the time to be coy, Mello. Our future has just been ripped from beneath our feet without as much as a by-your-leave. Did he even consult the two of you before he used the persona to claim Kira?"

"No, but he's not himself."

"That's precisely my point. He's making grievous mistakes in favor of playing the board, and he knows it."

"What else is he to do? He's already called us in, and this is what it's wrought. Him, broken and busy elsewhere while the two of us track down his failure…he's aware of just how much he's lost, I assure you."

"Is he?"

"Near." Mello tone demanded the respect that wasn't evident over the line. "You haven't looked at the man. You don't know how badly he's been hurt."

"I am not sitting idly at home while the two of you nurse his ego, either. Surely you know that?"

"…You've already made your move, haven't you?"

"No quite yet, though my pieces are in place. My point, Mello, is that I'm _not_ there, and I _don't_ know how bad it's become. However, I _do_ know that despite his brave fronts, he's playing his chess like drunken eight year old."

"It's the best that-"

"It's the best that can be expected, yes, I understand that. I am not so insolent as to forget that he was human being underneath the persona, Mello, and you need not keep reminding me of it."

Mello felt his temper flare, a talent that the other boy had always had, and that hadn't failed him with the maturity of the years. Near was master of himself, with neither interest in following someone, nor of leading anyone else. Perhaps it was why he had done so well in meeting L's expectations, the fact that he never bothered to attempt to…at least not that he'd ever confess. Mello opened his mouth and Near cut him off again, perfectly timed to his indrawn breath.

"My point, Mello…" And how he trailed there, to further still whatever might leave his mouth. Bastard.

"…Is that you know." For the first time there was a quiet sigh from the other end of the line, and Mello realized, for the first time in a _long_ while, how very old they'd both become. "You know, better than I ever could. You know him better than Matt or I ever dared to try, simply because you do what you do without threat or even conscious thought. You _invade_ him just like you do everyone else, looking into them without the common courtesy of friendship or camaraderie to pad your theft."

"What are you getting at, Near?"

"Much as I hate to confess it, I wish I had come with the two of you. Even though I know that seeing him in such a state would only drive me to distraction, I wish he'd know that I support him, whatever's left of the man."

"He knows that-"

"Please, allow me to finish." A pause, but Mello remained silent, and the other continued, his already quiet voice a whisper. "However, regardless of what I would have liked, I would have been useless at his side. I'll never understand just how you manage to steal your way so far into a person to know their soul before they even meet your gaze, and frankly, it terrifies me. Matt endures it because it means that he doesn't have to work for your friendship, and I, like so many others, simply had no choice in the matter. I turned around one day, and you were there, and I could not get you out. While it led to some serious problems in our relationship, I suppose I'm lucky enough to realize that it was no intentional doing on your part. It is simply who you are.

"And while I remained behind, I also realized that it was best that you go…because no one of us could better decide how to handle the situation. You, and your gift, your uncanny soul-searching…it's what he needed. He cannot hide from you, nor had he ever hoped to. He would lie himself into his own grave, had you not been there to draw his eyes from the gun's barrel. I am aware of this, and so is Matt, reluctant as he is to ponder such things. That being said Mello…I…"

And for the first time in their many years of history, Mello heard Near hesitate over his words. It stunned him into a silence that stilled his very soul, locked the world into a crystalline place that could not be altered until the pale boy found whatever eluded his lips.

Near did not disappoint. "That being said, I want you to know that…no matter what course of action you decide to take…I support you. As does Matt. As fully, and capably as we can. When you tell me there's not much of him left, Mello, far be it from me to dare _dream_ it otherwise. You know, better than anyone, what he is made of, and how…how very close he is to breaking. So if…in your opinion…you say that this man could take him over that edge…then…don't let him."

"Near?"

It was cold snap, the sound of a tree shattering in the ice of winter that belied his pain at the admission. "_Don't let him_, Mello. For all our sakes, don't let him."


	31. Upon the Mountain

AN- Well...Here's something you didn't expect.

XXXX

"You look pathetic, Light."

The voice of death woke him, and he startled like a thrush, caught in a blind moment of panic before his eyes, ears, and wit returned to his control. He didn't need to turn around to know that the strange boy behind him had seen it…how could he not? Still, perhaps he would write it off as a weary traveler's nightmare and nothing more.

Something told him otherwise, but he dared not turn around to try and guess what the boy's thoughts were. There was something strange in his eyes that invited no such pleasantries, even such trifles as eye contact.

It made him think of L…the old L, or Ryuzaki, or whomever he'd been dealing with. Regardless, he lifted his head from his knee slowly, allowing the stiffened muscles of his neck to shift at their own pace after hours of not allowing them to move. There had been discipline in the pain, an uncompromising reminder of what losing to L meant. Such weakness was not to be tolerated.

He managed to get his head halfway around before a dizzying cramp took the muscles alongside his spine, rendering his senses useless for another moment as a high, keening sort of pain made him cringe. Slowly, reluctant muscles loosened, and he managed to turn and stare at the ornately scarred metal that was Ryuk's belt buckle.

His eyes wandered slowly up to that soul-rending grin, and didn't have the heart to speak. The shinigami rasped a laugh that made his skin scrawl, and turned his large, shimmering eyes towards the back of the car. Light didn't dare follow his gaze, and instead chose to stare at the fabric of the seat in front of him. The train entered a wooded area, and the high morning sun dappled the window, lending itself all too easily to his headache. He muttered as loudly as he dared, "What do you want, Ryuk?"

"I'm merely checking in…I've been keeping an eye on you, but had yet to see an opportune moment to pop in and let you know that whatever you're doing, you're failing miserably."

"…Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"All the same to me, Light. I must say that I never knew a single man could wreak so much havoc on his society."

"You're too kind."

"I was actually talking about that detective guy. There's riots in your hometown because of his broadcast…people falling over dead in the street, looting…fascinating stuff." Light's eyes closed, a muscle in his temple working, and Ryuk laughed again. "Don't be jealous, Light…it hardly matters which of you wears the motley. You're both still the jesters."

"He is unworthy. He's ruining everything."

"And aren't you a fine picture of what he ought to be."

"I imagine I don't look it at the moment, but I have the situation very much in hand."

"No…you may have the man in hand…but the situation?" Ryuk chuckled wryly, kneeling next to the bench to put him at eye level with the ball that was the supposed God of the New World. His breath smelled of carrion and apple seeds. "I think you forfeited the situation in favor of the man."

"What?"

"Oh, for once I must explain myself to the boy genius? What has the world come to?"

He let that insult ride the silence for a moment before continuing. "I mean that perhaps you abandoned your task in favor of the more interesting quarry. I can't imagine what you were thinking, but I can say with a decided relish that the day you accepted his offer, his lifespan jumped by quite a stretch."

"How long?"

"You want to know?"

"…No." And he didn't. For the first time, he began to consider what Ryuk was doing here. The task was too much for his aching head, and required the effort of pulling his scattered genius back into a cohesive state. The pieces of his mind tended to drift when he didn't use them, so instead, he voiced the question allowed. "What are you doing here, Ryuk? I haven't seen you in years."

"I'm here because that boy plans to kill you."

The world ceased to exist for a brief moment. Those words echoed hollowly in his chest, hammering at his heart with the surety of his paranoia. It was a child. Just a child, no older than he had been when he first picked up the Deathnote…it wasn't possible. The sheer paradox of that statement struck him. He'd been murdering people since he was that boy's age…and his eyes….

The pieces of his thoughts protested their binding. He was exhausted, weak from travel, and strained after his early round with the detective. That had been a gamble at any rate…if he'd won, he'd have been rejuvenated, but he hadn't, and suffered for it. His rigorous self-punishment probably wasn't helping his case, but he'd come to despise any form of weakness that he might discover within himself. Still his paranoia would not let him let go just yet.

"What makes you think that?"

The death god just grinned with that empty smile that so often turned his stomach to witness. It wasn't a matter of whether he would answer or not…the truth from Ryuk wasn't a pretty thing no matter whose favor it was in. However, his lack of response made Light shift uneasily in his seat, unwilling to let it go as a mere joke at his expense. No, that wasn't even possible, at this point. Things were far too volatile to make such careless mistakes. Mistakes like losing that battle over the phone a few hours ago…mistakes like calling in the first place. So much of his confidence, wasted on a pointless round of banter that he hadn't even been in control of. He should have known that he was in no condition to take the detective on, regardless of what his wounded pride told him. L could not wield the title of Kira effectively, regardless of the initial result. The world was in too fragile a state for him to pose in Light's place. It was a gambit, he realized, to draw him out.

It was his arrogance that would be his downfall. L had something to that effect to him once, but Light was hard pressed to remember when. It was bitter memory on his tongue, and his psyche protested again at being forced to function. It was so much easier to be numb now. He could drift off, and not see Watari's face, or L's expression, and not be torn between his inhuman satisfaction and his all too human horror. No, numb was better than facing the changes he'd wrought upon himself, because growing into the role of a God was proving to be much harder than he'd originally thought. He above such petty things…until L reminded him that he was currently winning.

Would L burn the notes?

"You're so pathetic, it's almost amusing. I wish you could see yourself, Light."

Ryuk.

"You say he's come to kill me."

"So I say, yep."

"And what makes you think he'll succeed?"

"The fact that I'm here to witness. Think about it, Light."

But Light was tired of thinking. He was still alive. He hadn't lost yet…with an exhausted sigh, he put his head down and let the pieces of his thoughts wander away again. Half-formed plans taunted him as he rested his cheek upon his arm and stared out the window. With a rustle of chalky wings, Ryuk settled in next to him, but the realization that he wasn't leaving was a dim bell of warning in the void that took him.

He knew what it meant, the tenuous strand of his genius told him…he knew what it all meant.

But he was tired, and it was easier to be numb.

XXXX

Mello's hand was tight around the gun when he approached the man, craving its cold form of comfort as it lay within his pocket. He walked strangely, with his shoulders squared proudly, but his chin low. He moved like a dead man walking, his every step stiff and nearly disjointed. He muttered to himself every now and again, but Mello was always too far away to hear it.

He'd made his decision however, and as he followed the man through the city streets, he wondered to himself how it had ever come to this. Then he remembered it was not his place to ask such questions, and moved on, following Kira in a random pattern between buildings and across streets. He wound his way through the small village as though looking for something, but what, Mello could not fathom. They had an hour until the train came that would take them out of Germany. The end of August hailed clearly in the Germanic mountains where they'd both left the station. Fall came early to these hills and the edges of the weaker trees were tipped crimson and gold, the forerunners of the glorious coats that drew thousands of tourists to their heights each year. The season was not yet full and so his coat may have made him stand out a bit, but it was worth it, because he wasn't ready yet.

He wasn't sure why Kira was stalling, but he was glad of the extra time. For the life of him, now that he'd made up his mind, Mello had no idea how to approach the murderer. What could he possibly say to this man that would garner his fractured attention and not send him into a maniacal fit? He had no idea whether man was armed, but he wore no coat to conceal a weapon. Granted, his clothing was ill-fitted upon his frame, loose enough to conceal a smaller thing or two, but his movement belied no such deceit. Winding through yet another dark alley, the answer came to him, and he paused, working up the courage to speak.

"Light Yagami."

The man surely knew he was there, for Mello had made no effort to cover his following. The fist wrapped around the pistol grip did not shake as he stopped, but the shiver that raced his spine made no apologies in its presence. Kira paused at the end of the alley, sunlight mere steps away and did not move again, not to turn and receive address, nor to flee. His head wandered upwards lazily, as though pulled by a string, and after a second of silence, he muttered lazily to himself, letting his head fall away again. "Shut up, you…."

It was spoken in English, but the man had not yet acknowledged him. They stood for another moment, and Mello began to seek the quiet that he'd had on the train, the unshakable sense of himself that he would need to tap his strength. It eluded him, at first.

Kira's head lifted, as though remembering he were there, and tilted only slightly back, not quite glancing over his shoulder. Mello licked his lips and offered to the wind and silence, "L do you know, Gods of Death love apples?"

The proud shoulders straightened, and Mello's fist tightened even further on the gun. God, he hadn't expected to be this nervous. The question was the only phrase he could recall that would draw Yagami out from the hundreds of notes and files that he'd reviewed. The mockery had stuck with him as nothing else had, because in truth…it was something that Mello would have done, given the opportunity.

Kira's hand rose from his side, waving as though dismissing an idea or batting at an insect, and he turned, slowly, to look Mello in the eye.

Whatever talent Mello possessed nearly failed him. Those eyes were starkly haunted, a pain there that had precious little to do with the toils and hardships of day to day life. It wasn't a matter of what was presented to him in those soul-windows, but more a matter of what was not. He'd seen no other man so torn save one, and there had been a familiarity there that bred contempt. He'd known what was missing from those eyes, just how badly L had been damaged.

From these eyes, he knew only the pain. The depth of it was astounding, to see how much suffering a simple glance could reveal, and in that moment, he remembered that Kira too, was just man beneath a name. Then a slow smile tugged Yagami's lips upwards, and he remembered that the man was insane. Yagami smirked at him, a ghost of a once handsome boy and the tatters of a misled youth. There was nothing in that shell of a man save his dying graces, the illusions of deification and the burning rage that encompassed his soul as surely as the chill just being borne on the autumn wind. It was the stark nothing in those eyes that at once hardened Mello and terrified him. What stood before him was a man made hollow, or perhaps a soul without a man to wrap about it and give it shelter, and it was a callous, dangerous thing to behold.

Kira glanced to the side and whispered imperiously, still smiling. "Shhhh…enough."

His voice was smooth, controlled and filled with the same honey-slick poison that Mello remembered. He'd heard that voice before, threatening what very little he held dear, it gilded him against it. He'd been expecting it. It didn't help much at all, save to drive another frightened rod of steel down his spine. His eyes narrowed slightly as he regarded the figure before him with the marked distaste of a rabid animal, something beneath the social grace of bearing a name.

…And that was something that, in the past few years at least, had come to be rather important.

Kira looked him over, and Mello didn't falter under the scrutiny. Then, without another word, the man turned and began to walk away again. Mello began to follow, and watched him turn away to the left. He refused to hasten his steps, foolishly trusting the man to maintain his pace once around the corner, and was surprised to turn it and find that he had…he walked with a purpose towards the end of the street. He paused at the wall of trees that presented itself on the outskirts of the village. The sun was high in the sky, leaving very few shadows to be seen. It put a strange clarity to the moment when Kira paused, looking up to his left, and then back to see if he was following.

Without another word, he left the pavement and began walking amidst the trees, away from town.

It was one less thing for Mello to worry about, and he followed mutely.

They walked for what felt like hours. Silence was string held taught between them, slackened when either seemed ready to speak. Sometimes, Light would pause and look down the hill to see if the blond boy followed. Sometimes the sound of Mello's footsteps would fade as he paused to watch Kira walk up the slow incline of the mountainside. The grass and brush was still thick and green, unyielding to the cooler night air, and so it snagged and latched to their clothing, as though eager to be apart of their world and their mind for a moment. They pushed onward, the sunlight dancing through the leaves of the trees above as though blissfully ignorant of the abominations on its child, the earth. Every now and again, Light would pause, chuckle to himself and continue on. Whether he was stalling, or merely leading Mello to his death, the younger man didn't know. It was far from a game, both intensely aware of each other and aware that one of them likely wouldn't be returning down this trail. Still, the birds sung, the wind blew, and the civilized world continued it frenzied descent into a darker place of war and treachery. It didn't seem to matter to the forest, and so, didn't matter to them.

Not yet at least.

Eventually, the climb grew harder, the path wavering to the left and right as easier purchase was found and lost to the mountain. The sun still played tag with their eyes beneath the canopy of leaves, and sent shadows dancing in their peripheral vision where none existed. Light would pause every so often, muttering softly to himself sometimes in Japanese and sometimes in English, but at the end of these small breaks, he soon stopped smiling. Each one made Mello freeze in place, sure that this finally, was where the confrontation would happen, where one man would die. Every time, however, Light glanced up, glanced at him, and then frowned…and the climb continued.

When even Mello began to lose his breath, he was surprised to see Kira lean upon an outcrop of earth, the remnants of a landslide. He braced himself against the wall of dirt and stone, and panted, trying to cover his every intake of breath. He looked exhausted, weary, and Mello again noted that his clothes were ill-fitted, loose in places that should have been firm, for their size and design. He was underweight, thin and weak from his imprisonment, and he had to at least give L credit for managing that much.

The thought of Watari made him falter in his silent praise however, because he was still unsure of how much of this work that been the detective's order, and the older man's common sense. He did not put it past the old man to be steely where L had been lax…especially with this man, with this murderer.

Yagami rounded suddenly, not to face Mello, but again, to his left, addressing the air. His words were violent, harsh, and Mello suddenly saw the killer within the shell, the beast that waited behind the complacent mask. His eyes flashed mahogany in the sunlight, his face contorted into an expression of frank loathing and rage that would make the strongest of men quail before him, and his words were as sharp and pointed as bullets. "Would you be _silent_?! I _know_ why you're here!"

He addressed nothing. The sheer emotion of the outburst set a fire to Mello's frayed nerves and he pulled he pistol from his pocket finally training it on the figure above him.

Kira had time to glance at him, narrow his eyes, and then the shot rocked through the valley. The man stood before him one moment, and staggered back, clutching a shattered knee in the next, the spray of crimson blackening quickly on the earthen wall behind him.

He made no sound.

That terrified Mello like nothing else had. No man had _ever_ taken a bullet that silently, he was sure of it, not to the knee, not without a growl, a cry, a scream…nothing. Kira panted, true, his lungs working frantically as he leaned against the wall, but there was no sound. He didn't betray himself with any sign of weakness, and instead threw a level sneer down the hill at the boy that had shot him.

God the man was insane. Mello's gun quivered for the first time since he drew it, for the first in time years feeling unfamiliar in his hands. His own heart roared in his ears, and he realized dimly that Kira was muttering again…

"…Doesn't he finish…just a boy, I know but…why is it so…"

"Who are you _talking_ to?" Mello finally barked up the mountainside, and Kira's eyes widened briefly at being addressed.

He tilted his head to the side, staring back at him, and blood seeped crimson between his fingers where he clutched the shattered joint in his fist. His eyes had a wild look to them, the cunning of a cornered animal, but he blinked too often, something lost in the set of his shoulders. He seemed fragile for the first time to Mello's eyes, as impatient as….

"You'll understand, eventually." He glanced warily to the side again, his wide eyes watching nothing. "What do they call you?"

"Mello."

"I'm Kira."

"I know."

"Catch it if you can." Without warning, the man threw himself to side, clawing at something. Mello fired without blinking, and the blood spatter told him he'd hit even before Yagami's body bucked at the impact. His shattered leg gave beneath him, but he hovered between the air and the ground for a few seconds of timeless nothing, a void in the fabric of reality. The instinctive third shot brought them back to the world of the living as with, at last, a strangled cry Light Yagami's body fell, blood swelling the shirt-fabric at his stomach.

In that split second of reality, whatever the broken, insignificant piece that it was, something happened that Mello's mind could not wrap itself around, to accept or deny whichever the case may be. In that second between the third bullet striking flesh with a defining _thunk_ and the report of the shot echoing in his eardrums, a note book materialized in the thin air between Yagami's clawed hands and was sent spiraling down the hill to land at Mello's feet. It slid open across the grass and found purchase against his boot as Yagami's body hit the ground.

It lay open, and scribed upon the page before him was the name, "Light Yagami."

Mello's eyes found those brown pits where no soul existed, and there was blood in his mouth when Kira hissed at him, "_Pick it up, you fool_!"

Mello slowly crouched, reaching for the book. At the last second, he pulled back, and his shaking hand went instead to the crucifix hanging around his neck.

"Pick it up! What are you DOING?! DON'T LET HIM TAKE IT!"

Kira's words were garbled between his labored pants and the blood in his throat. He stared uncomprehending at the boy below him and slipped into Japanese, clutching at his stomach as his life bled out upon the grass and dirt. The wind hissed through the leaves, and his battered, soul-rending voice seemed to rape the simplicity of the valley's peace, a ghastly thing in the silence that should be allotted those dying. Mello stared, unable to breath, his knuckles bleaching on the small cross that was pressed painfully into his palm, but there was no escaping that voice. He could not block from his ears the sound of his first murder in the name of justice, his first execution…and such a personal one it was, to see the blood so bright and clearly as it ran downhill towards him. His voice became desperate as the seconds ticked on, slowed by presence of death in this hollow grove where but moments ago serenity had ruled.

He glanced down again and the note was gone. Terror took him strongly then, as a wash of cold air seemed to rob the life from his limbs. He went from a crouch to kneeling, staring in horror at the spot where seconds ago, he knew there had been a notebook, something foul and evil that came from the darker reaches of hell. His fist shook more violently around his crucifix.

Kira's cries cut off abruptly, and he looked up in time to see the man clutch not at his stomach, but at his heart. A faint whimper passed his lips, and in the wake of the screaming obscenity that had dominated his tone, it was the bastard child of torment and relief. It fell from his lips in a rush of air, as he stared up into the sky watching the green leaves dance above as though for the first time, seeing them clearly. "L, I'm tired."

He did not draw another breath. Kira lay dead upon the mountain.

XXXX

AN-

"I told you in the very beginning that I would be the one writing your name in the notebook when you die. That is the rule between the shinigami who brings the notebook into the human realm and the first human who picks up the Notebook." - Ryuk, Volume 12 of the manga.

Almost forgot this line in the original draft of this storyline. Tee hee.

Also, some of you wondering why Light was able to grab the notebook...to be blunt, Ryuk wasn't expecting it this time. Yeah, in the series, we get an outraged, desperate Light grabbing at EVERYONE, so Ryuk thinks to let him phase through when he tries to snatch the note away. My Light is a little more...deranged, than that, and catches him off guard. Meh...I'm going to bed. It's late and stuff. I should be able to write more tomorrow. I'll try to update then too.


	32. Cold

AN- HELLO FF NET AND PEOPLE! God, I've missed this website. Anywho, I have wonderful news! The goal is in sight! June 14th is my ACT test date, and then I'll have time to focus on my writing again. Wish me luck, I'll need it!

That being said, than you for you're amazing patience, you're...amazing. Really.

Also.

Three. Chapters. Left.

Step Lightly!

XXXX

"Matsuda, wake up."

"I'm awake." Matsuda mumbled, hanging his head because he didn't have the strength to lift it. In all of his years of hostage negotiation, he'd yet to encounter a stricter situation. He had not been allowed to move any more than necessary; barely enough to avoid muscle atrophy, and the week had been brutally unforgiving. The mere act of lifting his chin from his chest required too much energy…energy that supplemented water and bread had not given him.

He sensed someone standing just before him, and wondered if he were about to be subjected to another round of questions. The man's voice tugged at his memory, harder than it had any right to, but day and night were lost in the blindfold, and with it, his basic ability to function. It was easier not to think, just to exist…the time didn't drag so much then.

Still.

"Hey."

It was too familiar.

"Matsuda?"

…A sliver of recognition, a voice he hadn't heard in months. "Aizawa?"

"Yeah, man it's me." The figure crouched before him and there were hands working the knot of the thick fabric over his eyes. This wasn't the professional type of blindfold that Matsuda was used to working with in the past, but it had proved effective all the same. "I'm taking this off, alright? Close your eyes."

It was not an order he was going to question. He clenched them shut and even then, spots danced before his eyes when the light struck them for the first time in…a while. A week perhaps. He'd need to be outside before his body clock could fully realign itself. He eased his eyes open slowly, adjusting to the sparks of pain all the way.

Finally, he blinked slowly up at his Director, and asked the first thing that came to mind.

"What the hell is going on?"

Aizawa grinned at him and moved to the back of the chair. "I need you to relax…you're still not up to where you need to be, but we can't wait any longer."

"There was a woman talking to me…said she worked for L." The handcuffs rattled as they came off, and his shoulders ached terribly when he pulled his arms around.

"That's what I'm here to explain to you. Do you recognize this room?"

Matsuda thought to look around for the first time, and he shook his head briefly to be sure that he was awake. "Is this…the old headquarters?"

"Yes. Now come on, can you walk?" Aizawa hefted him up and steadied him against his dizziness. "She's sorry she had to hit you twice, by the way."

"Who is 'she'?"

"Hal Lidner. Walk with me, I'll explain everything." The dizzy spell returned and he gripped the older man's coat for a minute before unsteadily turning towards the door of the holding cell. He remembered seeing Light in that damn chair, and knowing that he'd just shared it…well, he'd rather not discuss how it made his skin crawl. After a moment of walking alongside him with a hand on his shoulder for support, Aizawa began speaking, his tone very quiet.

"Before L returned to the country, I was contacted by Watari. He told me that Light was Kira and that L wasn't…acting as a man of his standing should. He warned me in advance of the changes to the detective himself…and he told me not to trust him."

"Watari said that?"

"Yeah."

"…He's dead now."

"I know. Anyway, I assume you've met Mello and Matt?"

Matsuda paused to stare at the man at his side, suddenly unsure of himself. Aizawa nodded and continued. "Yes, I thought so. They may have mentioned a person named Near?"

XXXX

"Hey."

"_Mello! Where the hell have you been?"_

"I got sidetracked. What going on there?"

"_We're packing up, moving everything to the higher levels of the hotel. They've evacuated the building, but we can't get out of here fast enough. Instead, we're locking-"_

"Why are you moving?"

"_Haven't you seen the news? Kanto is in flames, man. The broadcast backfired, and there's a fucking cult war in the streets around here. Kira versus Anti-Kira."_

"Why hasn't the militia acted on it?"

"_Because currently, the fucking Militia is undecided as to whose team it's on."_

"You've got to be joking."

"_I know. It's some shit, but what are we gonna do? Could really use a hand over here."_

"It's going to be another day before I can make it back. I'm still a train ride away from the jet, and then about six hours in the air before I even make the coast."

"_Yeah, and don't bring him straight here, either. Gotta let L get used to the idea."_

"…What?"

"_I said don't bring Kira straight here. Where are you anyway? I've been calling for hours."_

XXXX

At some point in time, nearly every child in the world will discover a dead bird, lying pitiably on its side somewhere…perhaps a sidewalk, or along the path in the park. It's a sad occasion, a brief frown and sigh that something so free and full of life has finally met its end.

It is also the nature of a child to find a stick and turn it over. The peaceful illusion of death is then lost to the grotesque truth that lies beneath the carcass, the winding trail of maggots and ants that robs the serenity from the sight, turning death into something to be feared, something that will never, ever, be welcomed or accepted.

L really didn't mean to compare the crowds of people storming Kanto to the maggots upon his dying society…not these people, the ones that he devoted his life to protecting. Yet as Kira supporters wove through the streets, plundering at will, he was at a loss to think of them as anything more than that. It was not a spiteful judgment, or even a conscious acknowledgement on his part. As he stood upon the roof and stared twenty stories down the hotel's wall to the sidewalk below, they appeared as small movements and nothing more, the subtlety of expression and the distinction of body lost in the vast distance between them. Perhaps they reminded him of so many ants down below, with the occasional spark of a torch, or the shimmering rains of shattered store windows.

Maggots, however, seemed a more fitting term.

He was ill, sick to his soul to witness what he'd wrought. Things had gone terribly, terribly wrong, and he'd yet to find the bottom of this hole he'd dug. Eventually, he thought, at some point, down must become up and things must change. As though to spite him, the universe just ground him a little further under thumb. Reluctantly, he pulled away from the low wall and looked back toward his team. The men were still carting up equipment from the suite, taking it on foot up the two flights of stairs. They disabled the elevators after the rest of the hotel evacuated, and were awaiting the helicopter to take them away. They didn't have far to run…the riots were currently contained to the lower side of the city, but until the militia decided to act one way or the other, their current position was not the safest. In all actuality, it didn't matter which side won out in the end, because there was enough spite and fear from both sects to warrant L's immediate disposal, should he be discovered. The government's official statement was that they supported L in his endeavors…but they looked a bit too closely for his comfort. After the broadcast went out, he was isolated, completely and utterly cut off from any nation. As L and Kira, he took the world's two largest factions and threw them together like a couple of scorpions into a glass box.

The faithful would fight for religion, a jihad, a new-age crusade that would bring devastation to the world and leave no single nation untouched. The faithless would fight without a champion, because everything they've believed they were supporting has turned out to be the grandest lie of the century. They fought for survival, fighting to wrench the last sane bits of civilization from inner turmoil and decay.

It was, to say the least, a humbling thought.

He hoped that Light was paying attention.

Perhaps it was part of his disassociation process to in turn ignore the men he was working with. Even Matt withdrew from his blank stares, and he made no effort to put warmth into his eyes for any of them. Conversation was sparse and unpleasant as they went about their task, running with their tails between their legs because this was suddenly bigger than anyone had ever anticipated…anyone except, perhaps, the man that started it, and the man that had currently lost control of it. They lifted computers, powered down stations and began the trek up two flights of stairs in a morbid silence unlike any that had come before. They'd lost something along the way…several things perhaps. Dignity and faith…even hope was a distant memory of the reason they rose in the mornings.

Matsuda remained lost, without word or threat to indicate that he still lived. His loss weighed more heavily upon the team than anticipated. It was as though without him, the heart of the investigation simply ceased to beat. What little strength L could offer was differed to himself, to maintain his sanity and work the repairs he so desperately needed within his heart and mind. Mogi was beside himself without the nagging of the younger detective to distract him, and Ide took it as a personal failure that he was no longer able to track his friend's movements. After a dismal speech from L about how they'd likely found the belt by this point and destroyed it, along with some pitiful figures and statistics to back his logic, he found himself presented with two tight-lipped men that seethed in silence. Matt's expression had rather belatedly told him that they were not taking the news well, and he spent the next two days after that in a reproachful sulk, trying to convince himself that Matsuda's plight was not his fault.

He was becoming adept at ignoring what he could and lying to himself about the rest.

Pitiful really, because he'd thought himself a stronger man for it once.

XXXX

There is a moment when the pattern of things becomes clear. Perhaps it wasn't the pattern that was intended or even one worth comprehending, but the instant of clarity is sometimes hard to define. It can be an epiphany, a shiny, bell-like dawning of comprehension that sweeps away the shadows and clears the mind of its inconsistencies. It can also be a gradual, quiet thing, the pre-dawn graying of the sky that comes in those still moments of the morning, when the two lives of night and day hover in tense silence. It can be a life altering event, such as the moment Matsuda decided he was leaving the Taskforce. It might have been the gradual shift in mood over the two weeks following that, when he watched the changes wrought in those around him with an unfettered and open mind, seeing the differences for himself when he stepped away from the conflict.

Perhaps it was learning that Watari, not long before his death, had called his Director and told him that L was no longer to be trusted. Maybe in that knowledge, the hesitation and distance on Aizawa's part was no longer a mystery. Suddenly, his random calls and briefings when he otherwise seemed uninterested or recalcitrant made more sense…he was working the case, but he wasn't working it with _them_. Clarity. Comprehension.

Then again, maybe he'd known all along that things were changing in the background that he'd been unable to see. God only knew that what was right in front of him had changed before his eyes…become someone less, and yet someone more, than what he'd been originally. Perhaps watching L fall apart and knowing that Aizawa had spent the months of his distance working the investigation parallel to them with this…boy, and sharing information with him…perhaps that was clarity, because it explained too much, it fit too well.

Clarity, Matsuda thought, should render one incapable of doubt…it should clear away every miniscule reconsideration and theory of the truth that cluttered the mind. However, what Matsuda felt, when presented with this second Taskforce and its leader, a boy named Near who radiated cold intelligence just as his predecessor did, was not clarity. It was betrayal.

It was a rare thing for Matsuda to doubt himself or his decisions, but he did know that it hurt to learn that a man he once respected had become someone he couldn't. L had become a different person because of this case, someone…human. It also hurt to become angry, defensive, on his behalf…especially when the choices he and everyone else made were obviously right. L had done what…he'd thought best, and so were they, in deciding that something needed to be done.

But….

But Aizawa and Near hadn't watched him fall _bleeding_ on the floor as he offered his life to this investigation yet again. They hadn't witnessed his face, his expression, when the phone rang finally, and he knew that Light was waiting on the other end of the line. They may have talked about the changes in L with the pretentious air of a superior, but they hadn't watched the great man fall first hand, like he had. They spoke of him as someone obsolete, someone in the way. Perhaps it _had_ been in the best interest of the case that they work separately and distant from the source of the pain and dedication that Matsuda himself had once been devoted to. He knew that L had lost his ability to be objective. He realized that this cold dedication staring back at him now was what would eventually save the world, and end the reign of terror Light had started years ago.

"Hal and her team will subdue Lady Takada and her guard at the hotel."

He knew that…truly he did.

"Meanwhile, you and Gevanni will take a few officers over to her place of residence and capture Mikami. He should be waiting there for her to return."

But it didn't feel…human. To _abandon_ L like this, and leave him to his own devices while this new team nonchalantly cleaned up his mess...it left a foul taste in his mouth to even hear out their plans.

"Take him out as quickly and quietly as possible. It won't take long for there to be some kind of response to the mess at the hotel."

And a part of him, just a small part, _hated_ Near for not seeing that L needed help.

"Matsuda-san, is this plan acceptable to you?"

And truthfully, a part of him hated _all_ of them for being able to be that cold.

"Yes, of course."


	33. Clarity

AN- I'm so excited about this bit of stolen computer time, I'm updating twice.

Also. Hee hee.

TWO. Chapters. Left.

Step Lightly...again!

XXXX

He was always light…nimble, quick, and ultimately, Mello supposed, easy to throw around. He'd tried to refrain from physical fights with Near all through their childhood because of this…it didn't seem a fair fight to him. It would have been over too quickly, too much damage done in too short a time to be worth it. Twist his arm a bit too hard, and the fragile bone would snap, which meant a hell of a lot more than detention, even if it was his sole desire on more than one occasion.

They weren't children anymore, however.

And the shoulder in his palm felt sturdy enough when he bodily lifted the other out of his chair. It was reassuring in the split second before his bare fist connected with the pale jaw. Wide, wide eyes, dark and pained and that felt amazing…really it did. Then those wide eyes became honey-brown ones in his mind, staring at him through the tall grass, and the satisfaction fled. Crimson, bright blood, ran quickly from an abused lip as Near stumbled back into his desk, but no cry of surprise nor word of acknowledgement to be had.

Mello met his eyes steadily. His knuckles throbbed, but his gloves were soaked with blood and dirt that would have been rancid by now. He threw them away hours before. Heart in his ears, he waited, but aside from the pale one's quiet pants, there was only silence. Near watched him, warily, like a cat cornered, and if Mello could snarl, he would have. Near didn't exactly cower under him, but his years of bad posture and natural height put him at a severe disadvantage. Slowly, he moved to return to his seat, and the avoidance nearly set Mello off again. He caught himself, just barely, with one fist in the boy's shirt and the other hovering in the air, waiting to fall.

Near's eyes only narrowed, then strayed to the screen above his console. Mello shook him once, harshly, to regain his attention. "You lied to me."

Dark eyes found his again, and it must have hurt to sneer like that with his lips so torn, but had anyone been present to judge, the second punch was surely just as deserved as the first. There wasn't a sound, just a spatter of blood on the papers behind him and the curl of pleasure in his stomach at the sight of his head whipping back from the impact…

_The man stood before him one moment, and staggered back, clutching a shattered knee in the next, the spray of crimson black on the earthen wall behind him. _

…And he was abruptly sick to his stomach, a sour taste on his tongue as the sticky warmth of it painted his knuckles. There was no sound. He was as silent as…as _he_ had been, and there was no satisfaction in that.

"You lied to me at the cost of a man's life."

Near picked himself up again, standing a little straighter. Static from a small radio on his desk, but he didn't look this time, instead watching Mello with a calm disregard for the blood on his chin. Mello stared at it, feeling his soul rebel at the sight…he'd seen enough blood to last him a life time.

When he regained control of his bitten tongue and his breath, Near finally spoke. "It's good that you're alive."

"Don't ignore me."

"I don't _answer_ to you, Mello."

And if he tangled both fists into the boy's shirt and threw him then, who could blame him? Who?

"Then whose side are you on?" He hissed as the slender frame crashed into the rolling chair it'd been plucked from and finally, finally, there was a sound of pain when he hit the other branch of the console.

There was a moment of stillness while Near collected himself, and then pulled up from the floor, his voice as quiet and blank as he could manage. "Justice."

Mello sneered now. "Don't be juvenile, Near. That's not good enough."

"Perhaps not for you." Near clambered into his chair and raked an arm over his chin at last, clearing it of the horrifically mesmerizing color. "…But in the end, what would have changed? Would you have commuted his sentence? Or allowed L to?"

"Never, but that doesn't make that justified ki-"

"I never ordered you to kill him, Mello."

And that was true, in as honest a fashion as the bastard would ever allow. He watched the boy glance at the blood on his sleeve and frown, rolling it up as he returned his eyes to the screen. There wasn't a possible way to justify that, but Mello could still see him bleeding in the dirt, feel the weight of his pistol in his palm and it wasn't…

Near leaned forward to the microphone on the desk. "Proceed now, Lidner. Gevanni, act when necessary."

…It wasn't _fair_.

"Tell me, Mello…" Near leaned back and met his eyes while the bloody sleeve was turned in on itself, hiding the crimson smear…like it had never existed to begin with. "Why _did_ you kill him?"

Thousand of lines of logic, solid facts well placed beliefs, even his faith…reduced to sand by a simple question.

It wasn't fair.

"Why, if not to mete out your own form of revenge in the process?"

The words felt hollow on his tongue.

"It wasn't revenge."

"Hmm." Near stated simply, his eyes again on the screen as he tongued the tender skin of the cut on his lip. "As you say…but it was our only option."

Mello stepped forward and ripped the chair away from the desk, planting his feet and towering over the pale boy in it as he hissed. "_Look_ at me, damn you. What are you playing at?"

"I'm leaving no piece unaccounted for." Finally, irritation in those dark eyes. "Tell me, Mello, do you really think Kira would have ever made it to trial?"

The implication of that was sickening. "L wouldn't play the court against us."

"Wouldn't he?"

"No." He said it, but the nagging doubt in his own mind was terrifying, an insipid little voice asking, did he know that? Did he really? He dropped his eyes, and Near scoffed.

"Look at me," He mocked, "…and say it Mello. If you truly believe it."

"Do you think you're better than him now?" Mello pulled away, because those eyes saw too much, they always had. He knew better. He wished he hadn't buried his crucifix with _him_. "Is that what this is about?"

Near braced a bare foot on his hip and pushed back, returning to the desk. "I'll thank you to remember that you're the one that shot him, and not I."

…

A moment, and the question hung suspended, as Mello stared after him and Near watched his screens. Finally, the white crown of hair dipped a bit, a sigh. "…No…not better than. But stronger, at least."

It hurt more than it should to say it out loud. "You used me."

"…Yes, I did."

A simple utterance, and they were irrevocably damaged. Trust given simply because of circumstance, respect demanded because of what the world demanded of them in turn was gone, broken and lost as another casualty in Kira's war against humankind. Was it a loss, so much? Had there been much there to begin with? …Enough to hurt, apparently. Enough to reduce them to complete strangers considering the lines drawn in the dirt.

The audio crackled in the background, voices distorted in the speaker.

He wished he had his crucifix. He wished Near wasn't so damn arrogant, to think that he was better than everyone who had sacrificed so much more than he had. He wished Near knew what sacrifice meant. More than anything, he wished Near wasn't _right_.

"How can you expect me to explain this to him?"

Near stiffened, slightly, and the coldness in his voice was forced to Mello's trained ear, but it didn't excuse his words. "Does he deserve an explanation, Mello?"

And it wasn't supposed to be this easy to hate another person. They weren't supposed to fall to the sway of Kira's influence, and turn on one another…no, not Kira, but Light. It had been _his_ manner to delve into others' lives and tear them away without word or conscience. It wasn't supposed to be their fate as well, but the heart can only take so much. He remembered L. He remembered what he was, what he'd become, and if he could find the anger in his heart to defend him now, then what right did Near have to take that from him? If, now, he decided to be brave in the face of what he'd done, and if, now, he saw the justice that the one in front of him was denying, oh so blindly, then what right…did _anyone_…have to tell him he was wrong?

Near turned to look at him, and perhaps the darkness in his expression was more frightening than he himself knew. Those soulless, dark eyes, widened again, and this time, when Mello came for him, Near ran…as much as his pride would allow.

Meaning he gripped the chair's arm until his pale knuckles bleached, gritted his teeth, and never moved. Had he run, the fight would never have happened…he had left, there would have been no direction to the fury Mello's pain bore on its shoulders, but he stayed. Like a fool, like a man, he stayed and merely closed his eyes when the hand rose.

Had he run, Mello wouldn't have had the heart to chase him. Defending himself, whatever was left of him, had become defending whatever was left of L. His title, his stolen inheritance, suddenly paled in comparison to the idea of the man himself dying for this cause. Had Near run, it would forever have been just a title dying, the loss of a name and nothing more.

But he stayed, and so…it was about the man.

In refusing to run from the only consequence he'd ever faced, Near acknowledged that L was a man and that his faults were human. In that moment, when the solid weight of the blow made his ears ring, Near allowed himself the humanity to take this. There was nothing else. Not really.

Mello slapped him.

And it hurt.

The hand rose again, and clenched.

And it was Mello that ended it there, longing for his crucifix and listening to a dead man scream in the back of his thoughts because Light Yagami wouldn't wait until he slept. It was Mello that closed his eyes when his fingertips throbbed from the blood thrown to them, and stepped back.

It was Mello that grabbed the ledge they were falling from, and restored them to who they once were, by merely refusing to cause further damage because of the man he'd killed.

His cheek and jaw burned sweetly, but oh, Near resented him for that moment of strength.

…Mello's eyes remained closed, his voice quieter than his shaking hands. He balled them into fists, but that didn't help. His words were more important than his anger, his mind said. "What happens now?"

Near's head cocked to the side, slightly, watching him like a bird thrashing about in the river. "How did you picture this ending?"

"I don't-"

"_Think_." Near bit off, standing slowly to address him for the first time. "How does one explain away a deity? Kill a God? A cult is only as strong as its following. Did you expect the threat of Kira to end with something as simple as a trial and sentence?"

"…"

"How, Mello, did you see this case resolving itself? With a man on the witness stand, some documents and another man's word? He's a god."

"He was a man."

"They think he's a god."

"I KILLED a MAN, Near!" Mello twitched violently at his own outburst, raking a hand through his hair in a defensive gesture, heedless of how strands of it clung to the blood upon his knuckles. "I killed…a man, I shot him. He's dead."

Near drew himself up at the words, but shoved past them. "And yet the war still rages. You may assassinate a king, but does his nation die with him?"

Gunshots.

Mello jumped, startled, and Near rounded on his desk, eyes wide. For the first time, Mello paused to acknowledge the dozens of screens, and more importantly, what they depicted.

"Near, what have you done?"


	34. Shades of Grey

AN- Oh my god, It's over. (faints) I...wow. I don't know what to do with myself. I suppose I'll go study. I _seriously _need to clean this up, yus I do. (nods) However, I'm quite sad that it's over, and I'll do that tomorrow. Mebbe.

Then again, I haven't updated Of Music in two months. Imma bad person. I'll work on that tomorrow.

Feel free to come discuss this story with me on my forum! That includes all the PMs that I haven't had the time or presence of mind to respond to...

Step Lightly...and really, thank you all so much. So very much.

Kani

XXXX

Terror. The word itself implied a form of fear, that's true, but there were few people he'd ever known that could honestly describe the moment from experience. He'd once asked Soichiro about his heart attack, and how he'd felt in those few moments of nothing. The man had looked at him, and for just a moment, the shadow of it was written plainly on his face. His words weren't really of consequence, regardless of how touching they might have been. He spoke of his family, and how, in that moment, he was sure that Light was going to be next, and his wife and daughter. The older officer said that nothing in the world had ever been more…terrifying. Perhaps it was the use of the word that stuck in his mind then, an inherent, unavoidable link to the shadow of the emotion itself that eased its way into his expression. The way his brow knit, his jaw clenched, lips pursing…all signs he'd seen before, but now knit together with something more sinister than mere stress. He wondered to himself if he'd just been afraid to die…but at the time it seemed an inhuman, rude question, even for one as blunt and honest as Matsuda.

So he hadn't asked.

Now, though, he thought that perhaps it wasn't a stupid question at all. He even caught himself wondering if Soichiro made up the words about his family to hide the real source of the gripping fear that he was marked with…the fear of death.

Terror, Matsuda was learning, was a very real, very sentient being, like the touch of Death itself stretched over a long distance. As though a shinigami pried his lips apart and stared down into his soul. Terror -and its everlasting taint- were real. So real.

Was he a coward? He didn't think so. No, surely, it was only natural to witness death firsthand and feel the very corners of his mind tremble in abject _rejection_ of it. Surely, it was the most natural thing in the world to watch a person stop breathing and swear to himself that it would _never happen to him_. It couldn't happen to him. It _couldn't_.

Fewer things could be more terrifying than coming face to face with one's own mortality. It was a common sentiment, but the scope of what it implied had been lost on him. Six years on the special detective's force, specializing in homicide; and Touta Matsuda had never drawn, nor fired, his weapon. Six years of active duty, of flashing badges and studying blood spatter, without incident or injury. In the last ten minutes, he'd done both, and the department-issued firearm was still hot to the touch. His clip was half empty, and the trail of blood going up the stairs told him that he'd hit something. It was dark blood, rich with oxygen, and that meant something vital. In his…terror…he could smell it from the few feet away that he was, crouching by the wall. Then again, perhaps it wasn't that particular trail of blood he sensed but the ever-growing puddle on the floor directly in front of him. Sprawled behind the lush couch, illuminated by a fashionable reading lamp, was a man that he'd met hardly a day ago. A man that, in joining this group, had been counting on him for protection. Gevanni…he knew him by no other name, but the look upon his face in death was familiar, as though glimpsing an old friend in his final seconds. Matsuda didn't feel he deserved that look. Back pressed against the wall, he hissed his breaths through clenched teeth, eyes wide and the fear-sweat cooling on his brow. There were words for this terror…thousands of them, poetic lines to illuminate the gut-wrenching pain and exhilaration that accompanied a situation such as his, but there were none for the sensation itself. Terror defies words, marks the soul irrevocably and stains every day that follows with its hollow ringing. Staring into dark eyes, so tense that his every muscle screamed for release, Matsuda found himself beyond terrified. The blood inched closer and this was waited…what waited for them all at some point. This is the work of shinigami and gods…this was insanity, and also, mercy. He sat long after the last breathe rattled from bloody lungs and the fingers released their hold on the gored mess of his stomach. He sat there long after he could no longer hear the labored pants and mutterings of his own quarry somewhere above. He could only sit and watch as the puddle drew ever closer to his shoes, to his frozen body, and wonder how it had come to this.

A long, long time ago, he'd looked Light in the eyes and tried to rationalize murder. A long time ago, he'd tried to make justice into the common man's gain, turn it into something that someone of his…_normal_ standing could understand and comprehend. They'd looked at him askance, L and Light, tolerant of a child just understanding the basics of something vastly complicated. If he'd only known.

To understand justice, he realized, he first had to comprehend murder. To comprehend murder…there weren't very many options. To grasp it in its entirety…one must either commit it, or experience it. They'd been both… murderers, and, Matsuda supposed, victims. But this…this wasn't a supernatural heart attack. This wasn't a cold lump of flesh awaiting dissection and study, long dead when he arrived, no…this was a man. This was another human being lying stretched on the floor, his body temperature dropping by the minute. Those had been his final moments, and stare as he might, those lungs wouldn't work again to draw breath. There was…_nothing_ left for this man. This…was death.

He didn't understand it, but it _terrified_ him.

Something like a wail rose, but he was unsure if it was his own. A scream for no other reason than to mourn, not the man, but the _death_.

And the _terror_.

XXXX

"That's coming from Gevanni's radio, but he isn't responding." Near's fingers worked frantically over the keyboards within his reach, commandeering the nearest satellite for its infrared camera. "L's system has access to the military, but I can't hack the civilian lines."

"Pull up what you can." Mello pulled his cell out and flipped it open with a jerk of the wrist.

XXXX

As he sat up from his pallet on the corner of the roof and fumbled for his phone, the first thing that hit him was the smoke. Not cigarette smoke but the burning stench of rubber and paint, the scent of arson. The haze of sleep cleared slowly, the dark sky telling him that it was still late, and yes, he was still trapped on top of a building awaiting rescue or death.

L stood staring over the roof's edge, and Matt froze at the sight, throat clenching.

The detective turned to look at him then, frowning at the machine in his palm, and Matt remembered how to breathe. L wouldn't jump…still…

He flipped the phone open.

"_Matt, I need a hack._"

XXXX

Perhaps the most amazing thing the human mind can do is deny. It can shut things away so thoroughly, so completely, that is possible for one to lie even to themselves. That, in the end, is what saved Matsuda from the shattering that rendered Light insane. Granted, he'd not experienced the previous damage that the wayward murderer had, but the trauma of his current predicament wasn't to be underestimated. In a tense moment of the nothing but the blackness behind his eyelids and the labored sound of his own breathing, Matsuda regained himself as Light had not been able to. He determined then and there that he would continue to function, and though it took him a moment or two, he eventually managed to calm down enough to slow his heart. It still pounded in his ears, but it was no longer trying to tear its way out of his chest.

Nausea followed the wake of it like rising tide, and he kept that at bay too, breathing deeply, evenly, slowly…bringing himself away from the terror as much as possible. The ghost of it tinged his every exhale, in the sour taste of bile on his tongue and the prickling of shivers down his spine.

When he finally did open his eyes, they fell upon the stairs, and in turn, the crimson trail that led up them.

Slowly, the grip on his gun tightened.

XXXX

"_Anything else?"_

"Yeah. IP Address 03.1440 5488, needs to host the connection."

"_Isn't that Ne-"_

"Yes. Do it anyway."

"…_Coming online."_

XXXX

He paused at the foot of the stairs and glanced over the living room again. Three bodies littered the floor, and he couldn't tell if either one of the other two men were still breathing. Rather, he didn't think he could handle knowing if they _weren't_, and so decided that the rest of team would be coming in soon and they could deal with the fallen. Callous perhaps, but Matsuda wasn't capable of functioning on an emotional level just yet. The sear to his heart was still too fresh.

Resolutely turning to the stairs, he strove for a sound of the man that waited above. Mikami was injured, he knew, and the amount of blood on the stairs said badly. Regardless, a man could lose a lot of blood and still be dangerous…he didn't want to rush in blind.

He'd just lifted his head when something like a moan drifted from the landing above. The voice was desolate, pained. "G-God…God will kill you for this."

Ice wound its way into his chest for the second time as a broken sob followed the murmur. Mikami was closer than he'd originally thought, and his voice was hoarse from his brief loss of control only moments ago. How long had the man been sitting there? Was he lying in wait with his own gun, anticipating the crown of Matsuda's hair over the stairs?

He thought back to Gevanni's injuries, the bloody mass of flesh that was his stomach. He'd been shot three times…the others took a bullet each, at least. Was it a six shot pistol or a nine? Matsuda hadn't gotten a good look at the firearm, and cursed himself for hesitating now.

"God will kill you all."

God.

…Matsuda shuddered to know that he was talking about Light.

XXXX

"_I'm on my way."_

Matt was reaching for his cigarettes blindly, watching the connection set itself up onscreen. "Why am I hacking a home-security system?"

"_That guy's in there…the one that went missing?"_

"Touta? Oh." He muttered around the filter, clicking the lighter to life. There was a sound of affirmation on the other end of the line and then the flame caught. A brief inhale pulled the fire into the tobacco, and as smoke curled through his lungs he felt the last of the sleep clear from his mind. "Cool."

Then the lights went out.

XXXX

As he inched his head higher, Matsuda silently began to pray. He wasn't sure to whom, and really, it wasn't a structured order of words…just the fervent, terrified, _wish_ that he would not die within the next few seconds. He hesitated only once, flexing his grip on the gun's handle and staring at the wooden steps he was stretched out upon. There were dark puddles of color drying on the wood, and he was taking entirely too long to do this, but he could hear him. Muttering quietly only feet away, Mikami was dying, and possibly waiting to take Matsuda with him.

He'd solve nothing by staying here…and with Mikami dead, there would be no confession to end this nightmare forever. He gritted his teeth, narrowed his eyes and in a fluid motion that left no more room for doubt and error, he pulled himself up on his elbow and peered over the top stair.

Dark, glassy eyes met his and both froze for a second.

Mikami lay upon the floor much as he did the stair, though less in strategy as in necessity. His hand was clamped just below his collarbone, trying to stem the flow of blood from his chest. Not fatal, but likely extremely painful. No, the kill shot was lower, lodged deep inside his thigh. The blood that pooled on the floor beneath his knee was the rich life blood that stained the stairwell. That was the wound that would kill him, if he didn't get medical attention immediately. The gun was no where to be seen.

The sheer hatred in the man's face stopped the breath in his lungs.

Glasses askew and eyes unfocused, Mikami's face twitched in his pain, his words coarse and almost too quiet to be heard. The fear struck up again in Matsuda's chest but he nailed it into submission, unwilling to back away once he'd made it this far. This, he thought, was almost worse than Gevanni's empty eyes…because he wasn't quite gone yet. He had a wrenching suspicion that if he waited, just a bit longer…he'd watch this man die too.

Once was enough.

Once was more than enough.

XXXX

"Shit!"

"_What's going on?"_

"They just killed the power to Kanto. Did he get the connection?"

And it was then that L nonchalantly remarked over his shoulder. "Tell him to hurry…they've just set fire to the building."

XXXX

"Where's your weapon?" Matsuda called, trying his best to sound intimidating. His voice sounded too loud to his own ears, unwarranted in this moment of tension.

"…You?"

"Where's the gun, Mikami?" He repeated, bringing his own to bear on the man before him.

The man stared hard at him, some battered focus returning to his eyes. An uneasy feeling of recognition, like oil on water, rippled through his stomach and Matsuda pulled back just slightly.

The man's mouth was working silently as he rested his forehead on the floorboards for a moment. With a hiss of pain, he began to pull himself up from the ground.

"Stay down!"

"God…God, his name…." The hoarse voice asked of the air, and the uneasy feeling grew threefold. Years ago, before Kira, the sentence might have been nothing, but knowing what he did, it was as good as a threat.

His hand began shaking again, but he denied the fear. "Stay _down_!"

"Touta." Mikami used the wall to pull himself up, bloody hand prints and a smear from the fabric of his pants staining the pristine beige. So much blood….he was losing so much. "Touta…Tou…."

Standing as he was, Matsuda could no longer use the depth of the stairs for cover. He scrambled to a crouch, ready to move at the slightest hint of violence.

"Tou…"

Mikami swayed on his feet, groaning. His breath sounded harsh, shallow, but when he lifted his head again, his eyes were clearer than only seconds before, something at once admirable and horrifying. "Touta…ma…."

Then, clarity.

"Touta _Matsuda_!"

And he laughed.

It was a horrid broken sound, a manical bubble of laughter that bastardized what should have been a happy thing. Instead of mirth, the inherent glee in the man's voice was so poisonous it turned Matsuda's stomach, and for a moment he was once again paralyzed.

Then Mikami reached into his breast pocket with a bloody, shaking hand, and Matsuda committed the only act that his terror would allow.

He _fired_.

XXXX

L was still standing at the edge of the roof when the dull roar of the helicopter's blades came filtering through the sounds of the wind and the riot below. The only light to be had were the emergency strobes attached to the building's walls, and the dim glow of the fire beneath them glinting off the surrounding skyscrapers. Matt paced, tense, and Mogi and Ide sat near the door talking quietly. L said nothing, and only pointed at their rescue as it came into view.

The spot light swept over the small roof and he wondered how they must look…trapped twenty stories above the last vestiges of Kira's reign, with the building beneath their feet burning. Black smoke curled up and over the low walls, blinding when the wind shifted. The figure leaning out the door could only be Mello, and the fact that he was, in fact, leaning out the door, didn't bode well for the state of the building. He watched, expressionless as the pilot brought the helicopter to bear and then hovered. The blades sent the smoke curling down and away, and his eyes burned until he turned his head.

The greatest detective in the world, waiting to be airlifted to safety...

The irony left a penny-bright taste on his tongue.

Matt gestured the other two over, and for the first time in almost a day, L moved from his place. He'd watched the rioters move closer and closer, slowly forming a cohesive unit that eventually turned into the march on Kanto. Theirs was not the only building that was slowly succumbing to fire. When the militia killed the power, it emboldened the people. No electricity meant no security footage and fewer arrests. They plundered ruthlessly, even as the police began to set up blockades around the area, cutting the infection out and containing it to these few streets.

The helicopter made no motion to land, and instead hovered as best as it could over the roof top. L waved the men away from the equipment and towards the blond boy waiting impatiently on the runner. After a quick glance, they followed his lead. It was harder than he cared to admit to walk away from his life's work, but at last, he was more interested in the human aspect of the case than the technical. Mogi hauled himself in with only a bracing hand from Mello, and together they lifted Ide into the roaring vehicle. Matt tossed his backpack up and then made a running jump, laughing as he caught Mello by the forearm and disappeared inside.

L reached for Mello's hand, and met his eyes first.

And _knew_.

XXXX

Paper.

Bloodstained paper.

Matsuda's eyes stared at the dead man's hand blankly.

His mind raced.

What if there hadn't been paper there? What if he'd been reaching for his gun, a pen, his phone, anything but Deathnote paper?

Would he have been able to shoot him then?

Was it terror that drove him to do it, self-preservation? Or was it the poisonous rage he'd harbored close to his heart ever since he learned the truth of Kira?

What if?

The second violent murder he'd ever witnessed was his own... a man that he used to work with. He refused to be moved, refused to allow the body to be examined…just sat there, sharing Mikami's final moments in complete misery and self-destructive musings. It was harder than he thought to be impartial…harder than he'd ever comprehended to uphold justice in the face of the extremes.

He hovered on a blade's edge, pistol in hand, torn between the nothing and the now.

He stayed there until L himself came and took him away.


	35. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

XXXX

_- To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.-_

A pale boy watches the men dig at a shallow grave. They dig with plastic tools, carefully clearing away the fine dirt of the mountain. It's dark with blood and the dew. He turns away to watch the sky, the pre-dawn glimmer of the sun coming over the crest in the valley.

_-A time to be born, and a time to die.-_

It's the first time he's been outside in a long time. The ground is cool beneath his bare feet, and it's a pleasant change. He watches the birds make the first journey-flights of the morning, because it's easier than watching the other stand over the grave with his hand pressed faintly to the place where the symbol of Christ used to reside_._

_- A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted.-_

Something dark catches his eye down the path a bit, and with a final glance over his shoulder, he heads away from the grave and its contents. Brushing the tall grass aside, he discovers a small black note book. The sun disappears as he stands and finds himself in the shadow of a God of Death. Its grin is impartial but there is nothing of humor in its eyes. It holds out its hand expectantly. He stares at the dark cover.

_- A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away.-_

Without hesitation, he shoves the note back into its waiting palms and mutters quietly.

"Bring no more."

But the God of Death only laughs….

_Henh henh henh._

…And he flies away into the dawn. Behind him, he can feel cobalt eyes upon his shoulders.

But Near is tired, and continues down the valley to the waiting cars.

_- A time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate.- _

XXXX

He sets his small bag down outside the office doors. A rush of students barrel past, pressing him to the wall to avoid injury. As he stares after them, the door at his back opens, and his smile fades, but only for a moment.

Roger hugs him tightly about the chest, and he dimly realizes that he still smells of peppermint and pipe tobacco. The small familiarity is cherished in silence.

The old blue eyes that meet his are quiet with worry, and he's seen enough of that to last him until the next forever. He offers a small smile, though false, and it seems to comfort him. There is an old pain behind both masks that will have to fade as the years pass, but as of yet, it is a fresh wound. The other will be sorely missed; a piece of home that went away and never came back.

…And he knows, already, that the guilt will never fade.

For now, though…and possibly for the rest of his life, there is only this, and here. There is peace, and quiet.

He bends to gather his things. As he straightens, he starts violently, for a paper airplane just brushes his ear as it sails past. Turning slowly, the detective's eyes find a child kneeling in Roger's office.

Auburn hair and quiet, contemplative eyes meet his stare.

Without a word, he holds the older man's gaze as he slowly rips another page from his note book with a quiet hiss.

A shiver travels his spine and he knows…the guilt will never, ever fade.

_- A time of war... and a time of peace.- _

Ecclesiastes (ch. III, v. 1-8)

XXXX


End file.
